A Hope for Her
by xlookingoutx
Summary: In the middle of the summer before her 6th year, Hermione's parents reveal her true Pureblood lineage, along with the marriage contract written 16 years before. Now engaged to her long time enemy, what will Hermione do to survive a man she can't stand?
1. Surprise Surprise

**Hey! This is my first official Harry Potter fic. This first chapter is really only a stepping stone for my entire story, so I promise it'll pick up by the next one. **_**Constructive**_** criticism is appreciated!**

**On with it now…**

_Plunk, plunk, plunk._

Hermione piled the last of her clothes into her suitcase. She sighed.

_Zip._

What a great way to end the summer! She had been dying to see Harry and Ron and talk more about the events of last year at the ministry. Poor Harry, stuck with the Durleys! Now, all she needed was her carry on…

_Click, click._

Hermione sat next to her luggage on her bed, gazing dreamily at the ceiling. What would this year bring? Sure, she didn't particularly enjoy constantly skirting death and danger, but with her friends alongside her, it was consoling to know they did it together. Her thoughts swept over Ronald Weasley then, and his ginger hair and soft eyes…

_Knock, knock._

"Hermione? Hermione, dear, your father and I want to talk with you." Mrs. Granger said from the other side of her daughter's door.

"OK mum, I'll be down in a minute." Putting her trunk and carry on next to her door, Hermione bounded downstairs, high in spirits.

The kitchen was small, cute but small. The counter could hold up to four people, two on either side, and when she entered the kitchen, Sean and Marylyn Granger sat next to each other. Their expressions were grave and her dad had a damp cloth in his hand that he periodically touched to his face.

"Is everything alright?" Hermione asked as she sat down across from her parents.

"We – we don't think so." Her mother replied. There was silence where Mrs. Granger rubbed her husband's back reassuringly.

"There is something very important we have to tell you." Her father told her. Hermione's eyes widened. "Where do I begin?" He said, patting his brow nervously with the cloth. "Well, we're not Grangers, Hermione. We're Clarets." He stared at her intently, hoping she would make a connection and realize what he was saying on her own.

"We're not Grangers?" Hermione asked lamely.

"No Her- er, dear, our last name is Claret." Marylyn said.

"I don't understand. Why are you telling me this now…" Sean cut her off.

"We received a letter late last night, from an old friend, and it seems time to reemerge."

_Reemerge?_ Hermione thought. _What is he talking about?_

"There's another thing." Marylyn continued. "We're not muggleborns, either." Hermione said nothing. She wasn't even sure what all this meant.

"Years ago," Her mother rushed, "just before the Dark Lord's fall, we decided to into hiding. The Dark Lord was frantic in his search for followers. It was only a matter of time before he came to us, as a preeminent Pureblood family."

_Preeminent Pureblood what?_ Hermione questioned internally. Her heart was beating hard and fast and a light sweat was starting to break.

"We couldn't risk losing our family; we had seen how families were torn apart by the war. We didn't want that to happen to us." A tear rolled down her mother's cheek as she tried to explain the circumstance to Hermione, the daughter she loved so dearly.

"We wish we could have told you sooner." Her dad said hurriedly. "And we wish we had more time to explain, but it appears time has run out." He glanced at the clock on the wall quickly. "All of us need to leave now." The couple stood promptly, startling Hermione out of her intense reverie.

"What are you talking about? What's going on?" Hermione followed her rushing parents out of the kitchen and into the living room, which had a large box centered in the room. Marylyn and Sean ran around the room, hastily grabbing any pictures or heirlooms and tossing then into the box.

"I'm sorry Hermione." Her mother apologized as she threw an old clock into the box. "I know this is all happening so quickly for you, but we never predicted this."

_Dump, dump, dump._ More items were thrown into the pit.

Hermione watched her parent's frantically search the house for any family antiques she had never really noticed before. Something about the situation wasn't clicking in the bright witch's mind. It was too fast, no comfort about it. Both of her parents were gone from the living room now. Her head began to throb.

She stumbled into the kitchen and fetched a glass from a cupboard, bringing it over to the sink.

_Screech._ The water had been cut.

Hermione stumbled to another cupboard, hand to her forehead, in search of any medication that could reduce the pounding in her skull. Every cabinet was already empty, in some far unreachable place for sure.

_Where is the medication? Why is my heart beating so quickly? _The room dimmed suddenly and she slumped to the floor. The light on the ceiling flared before everything went black.

The light was dim when Hermione opened her eyes. Everything was quiet and she wondered if anyone had found her yet. She lifted her hand to her numb head, swallowing the funny taste in her mouth.

It was then that she noticed her surroundings.

Her clothes had been changed so she was in a short nightgown. The four poster king-sized bed she was lying on was old, and nothing she had ever seen before. The burgundy covers had some sort of Persian looking design on them. She propped herself on her elbows with effort, gazing around the incredibly large room. Two tall bookshelves resided against the farthest wall next to a large painting set against the royal blue color of the walls. A large desk sat next to that, a pile of books already on the surface.

On either side of the bed, two soft brown side tables supported antique lamps. A golden bell was on the right table, odd for where she was. Curious, she reached over to pick it up. Not realizing just how weak she really was, the bell slipped right from her grip and fell onto the floor.

_Ring!_

_Crack!_ Suddenly, an elf appeared.

A house elf, to be precise.

"Did miss ring?" The small creature asked.

"Oh no, sorry, I didn't mean to…" Hermione mumbled, a little stunned by its presence. The tiny thing had large eyes, much like Dobby's, and a small pillowcase fitted over her petite body. The elf bowed.

"It is alright, miss, Duffy is here to serve the Claret family." A house elf? To serve the-er-_her_ family?

"Well, Duffy," She began uneasily, "Can you tell me where my parents are?" Hermione made to get up but found herself to weak to move.

"Master and mistress have gone out. They will be back shortly." Duffy replied. _Out? Where could they have gone?_ Hermione wondered.

"If miss will beg pardon, Duffy must get back to duties."

"Of course…" Hermione muttered. With a _crack!_ Duffy was gone.

Hermione heaved a great sigh as a strong wave of drowsiness swept over, forcing her deeper into her comfy pillow. By this point, cohesive thoughts were too hard to come by. Her eyes drooped slowly as she fell into dreamless sleep.

**So... What'd you think of it? Please review and let me know! **


	2. Nerve Racking

Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused for a moment. Then they settled on her chandeliered ceiling and she remembered. Her heart sped slightly, but she stayed on top of her covers. She lifted her arm and clenched and unclenched her hand. There was a feeling like morning weakness there, but not something that would hold her back. Slowly she rose, testing the pull of her body.

Once on her feet, she looked at the room from the new angle. The room was quite bare and dull, now that she thought about it. She waddled to the desk on the far side of the room and examined its contents, noticing the books on it were about death, an odd subject in a bedroom she supposed belonged to her. She turned left, to look inside the wardrobe, but stopped when she saw the mirror hanging next to it. A chill raked down her back.

The mirror was covered with a black veil.

She knew all about old muggle myths, but none that she knew of extended to wizarding belief. The wives tale went that if a person died in a room their soul could get trapped in a mirror. To avoid this, families put black veils over any surface bearing a reflection.

Someone obviously thought she was going to die soon.

Faster than she could rattle _Wingardium Leviosa_, Hermione had stumbled out of the room, and into a nicely lit hallway, suddenly feeling very insecure about where she was. It stretched long; that much she could make out from the large curve it was making. The curtains to every window were open, spilling light into the wide corridor's marble floor and baby blue walls. Elegant chairs occupied a space against the wall every few feet or so, and even further away was a table. No living creature besides Hermione existed in that space for the moment, so she crept down the hallway to the open window.

The view outside was stunning: large grassy areas divided by a gravel path leading to a fountain of angels. It did little to calm her nerves, however. Still on edge, Hermione continued down the hall. The sound of a door closing far behind her made her jump and spin around. No one. Slowly, she turned back around, but not fully before catching a moving figure from the corner of her eye. She squealed this time, heart racing at the unveiled mirror and its staring reflection.

The young girl on the other side was breathing quickly, just like Hermione. Her hazel eyes were large and wide, innocence in a nutshell. This girl's hair, however, was very unlike Hermione's, with light brown color and soft curling locks ending at her waist. Her thin, pink lips were slightly parted in surprise. When Hermione raised her hand to her mouth, the other girl did so too, startling Hermione even further.

_What is this…? _Hermione thought. The other girl even had the same nightgown on as she… _No…_ _It's not me… it's not me… it can't be me… I don't look like this…_

Oh, but it _was_ her. She looked down and finally noticed the long hair surrounding her petite frame. She moved her hand along her mouth and over face, watching the figure in the mirror do the same. She watched as the Other Girl raised her arms and patted the fabric of the gown. She stared with deep intensity into her eyes, looking for some proof this wasn't real.

_Click, click, click. _

The sound of sharp heels against hard marble came to her attention.

"There you are!" A tall woman with the most beautiful brown hair Hermione had ever seen said to her. "Where have you been?"

Hermione backed away from the woman and her reflection.

"What's happening? Who are you?" She asked. The older lady looked hurt.

"Hermione," She said softly. "It's me, your mother. I've… we _all_ have changed."

"Mum?" Hermione asked incredulously. Mrs. Claret looked at her small wristwatch anxiously.

"Everything will make more sense in a little bit; we're running late. Come, dear, you must get dressed." Her mother turned around abruptly and click back down the hallway. Hermione gazed at her mother's back.

Things were moving a little too quickly for Hermione to feel comfortable with. Why was her mother walking away from her? This concept of "later" had been floating around for the last 24 hours, and Hermione was wondering when "later" would turn into "now."

In a lightening decision, Hermione scurried after her mother.

"_What is going on here?"_ Hermione pressed, on tip-toes at her parent's neck.

"There's no time to completely explain. Please, dear, don't ask questions until our guests arrive."

Hermione huffed in response. _How is _that _a better time to ask questions?_

They walked along the widely curved corridor, past open curtains and more antique chairs. Hermione wondered briefly if the house had been inhabited in the last few years, because everything was so pristine and not a speck of dust seemed to exist anywhere. She figured it was magic.

At the end of the hall two white doors with curiously placed golden doorknobs in the center stood slightly ajar. Mrs. Claret pushed it open and escorted her daughter into a large sitting room.

The walls were of regal designs, the same sweet baby blue of the walls outside interwoven. A matching set of sofa and arm chairs in white occupied the middle. Tall bookshelf, desks, and an ever more number of chairs decorated the room.

A man rested in an arm chair.

"Where did you find her?" He asked a little frantically.

"Why, I don't know. Where had you been hiding Hermione?" Mrs. Claret asked.

"I don't _know_ where I was! I was locked in some dark room with _veils over the mirrors!_" Hermione said exasperatedly, having finally produced a question that might actually have an answer. To her frustration, her parents started laughing.

"Oh, silly old house elves and their myths!" The tall man said through his laughter. Mrs. Claret noticed her daughters face.

"Dear, you don't understand. The house elf is delusional; she probably thought you were dying." Her mother chuckled lightly again, confusing Hermione to no end. _There's nothing funny about that! _She thought.

"When are they going to be here John?" Mrs. Claret asked the man.

"In two minutes. Now," He turned to Hermione. "We should probably tell you something before they arrive." The man looked at Hermione meaningfully. Hermione took a step back, her guard raised.

"Before _who_ arrives? _What_ is going on here!" Hermione asked for the millionth time. Her mother whispered something in the tall man's ear. A strange look appeared on his face. He bent down so he was face to face with the young, confused girl and put his hands on both of her arms.

"Hermione, dear, I'm your father." John Claret told her. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head.

"Dad? What…"

"We've been changed. It's the spell… This will make sense soon, darling, I promise. Right now, though, we need to let you know that your name isn't Hermione." He paused a moment, to let it sink in. "Your real name is Clara. Again, I know this doesn't quite make sense, but it will. I promise."

Hermione-er- Clara realized that this didn't make the same impression as her changed appearance had. Perhaps she was too wrapped up in her questions to feel, but this was like being hit with a flower compared to the ton of bricks that had landed on her in front of the mirror.

"I see." Was all the young Claret said.

_Crack!_ Duffy appeared in front of them.

"The guests have arrived." She bowed low before disapparating.

"Oh dear." Mrs. Claret began panicking slightly, looking around for something to fix. Hermione-turned-Clara's nightgown caught her eye and she hastily performed a spell transforming it into a blue dress with a thin Chinese flower design on it with simple beige flats. One tap on Clara's head un frizzed her bead head and tinted her soft cheeks. Ready to perfection in seconds.

"Now dear, do stay calm and try to be polite." Her dad said. The door doors opened and in stepped the first guest. _Why wouldn't I be…?_

The sight was the scariest she had ever seen.

Luscious Malfoy strode through the doors, arms wide with his weird cane in hand, greeting her parents.

He looked just as he had at the Ministry. His white hair was combed back smoothly and a mischievous look tempted his features. His grey eyes shone with strange warmth.

"John, how long has it been?" They greeted each other warmly. Too transfixed by her father and this man who had tried to kill her, Clara hadn't noticed Narcissa Malfoy greet her mother with kind words and a smile. The women had tears in their eyes, a sight that gutted Hermione harshly. Her eyes slowly moved across the small scene, to the door, hoping her thoughts were wrong.

Unfortunately, Hermione Granger was rarely ever wrong.

So of course Draco Malfoy stood by the door, also staring at his parents and the strangers they knew. She observed him, noticing his dreadfully pale appearance. His white-blond hair was combed over nicely, but his hollow grey eyes contrasted oddly. Then his eyes found hers. He looked confused, strangely. Something inside Hermione told her he knew she wasn't Clara Claret, or rather that Clara Claret was Hermione Granger.

"You must be Clara." The Malfoy couple was upon her now, Narcissa red eyed and Luscious looking stern.

"Oh child!" Mrs. Malfoy exclaimed before wrapping her arms tightly around the girl with a huge sob.

"Now, now, Narcissa, no need to scare the girl." Luscious told his wife. He was one to talk!

"We've missed you so much!" Narcissa cried. "I remember when you were just a baby, so small and fragile, you and Dra-"

"Clara," Her mother butted. "Why don't you show Draco around the grounds? We need to discuss a few minor details. We'll send Duffy to tell you when we're finished."

"What? I thought-" Clara began to protest.

"Yes, that's a lovely idea. Draco and Clara can become reacquainted while we… work some things out." Mrs. Malfoy chimed in. Clara stared glanced at Narcissa's hopeful expression from her parents pleading one before relenting unwillingly and walking out of the room, Draco quietly following.

"My, my, Mary. She has turned into _such_ a rose…" The doors closed swiftly. Clara looked upon Draco, who she found staring at her. His face was extremely hard to read, and she was unsure he would say anything so she turned on heel and started down the hall. She needed to go outside and get air herself, because this day she was sure was about to get even weirder.

They went down the hall, footsteps off beat of each other. The scenery outside called out to Hermione's soul as she hoped that she was going the right way. Eventually the large wooden double door entrance-located in a large hall-was found and shoved open gratefully. She stepped out hungrily, thankful for the cool breeze of a beautiful morning and staring around at the lovely land.

Draco shuffled out uncomfortably behind her. He looked even paler in the soft sunlight. Clara led him down to the angel fountain, not only getting away from the enormous house, but exploring the unfamiliar territory.

"You know, don't you?" Clara asked Draco. He stared straight ahead.

"Yes." He answered stiffly. His jaw clenched tightly. Clara nodded her head. It was a shock, seeing this horrible boy in her house, her own _parents_ greeting his at the same time. Only his odd silence had kept her from lashing out at him. She didn't know how she felt about him, but could sense his confusion, something they shared. Perhaps she could get information from him.

"Do you… do you know what's going on?" She asked tentatively.

"No." He answered. There was another bout of silence and then Draco said suddenly, "Will you stop staring at me?"

Clara had been scrutinizing him again. His irritable harsh words embarrassed her slightly and she looked away swiftly. What was with him? He was so on edge and… uncomfortable! It was nerve-racking to be in his presence.

However, that nerve-racking came to an end, because at that moment Duffy apparated, announcing the need of Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Claret's appearance in the drawing room.

The two had no idea what awaited them.

**How was it? Please review! (it keeps me going)**

**The beginning of this was not originally what I had intended, but I had to get Hermione out of that room! You'll be seeing her ACTUAL bedroom space soon, as well as her real lineage! **

**Lots more Draco and Hermione to come!**

**And thanks to all who have reviewed! I really appreciate it!**


	3. Ulterior Motives

_Breath in-breath out. Breath in-breath out._

Hermione's breathing became shallow as the doors opened.

"There they are!" John Claret announced, ending a quiet conversation between Mrs. Malfoy and Mrs. Claret. The men in the armchairs sat ramrod straight, yet their expressions showed informality and a close relationship. He motioned the teenagers to take seats in two chairs across from them. They sat stiffly, uncomfortable with the seating arrangements; it very closely resembled being on trial.

"Now, there is a very important matter we must attend to immediately." Clara/Hermione's father began once everyone was settled properly. "When the two of you were little – or babies, really – a lot was uncertain." He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "You have to understand that the Dark Lord was at the height of his power, and the only way we could guarantee your safety was to – well…" Mr. Claret put his hand to his face and rubbed it anxiously. Clara was at the edge of her seat, eager face leaning forward. _What? What was the only way you could guarantee my safety? _"It was the only way; it was dangerous if it wasn't done." He took his hand from his face and stared into his daughter's eyes.

"We signed a contract a year after you were born, several months after the birth of the Malfoy's child. It wouldn't be long before the Dark Lord fell, but he was very demanding in his followers. Male children showed promise, female ones did not. What was a female to the Dark Lord but an individual destined, in his eyes, to become passive in all the ways of war? There was Bellatrix, but of course, she was different, always hard to the core." He paused for a moment, looking for the right words. The room was thick with angst as he struggled.

"The Dark Lord eventually fell, and the Death Eaters were put on trial. We knew it would be suspicious, but we went into hiding. Everything had to be changed: our looks, our names, our occupations. All of it. We knew the Ministry would come after us one day, and they did, but we covered our tracks well enough that they found nothing." He stopped, waiting for a reaction, and after receiving none, carried on with the story.

"As a muggleborn we knew it would be hard for you, but we had no idea you would so quickly befriend the bane of the pureblooded world's existence: Harry Potter! We had talked of telling you your true heritage, but now there was no way.

"Since the Ministry incident a few months ago, the Dark Lord's power has grown. Your mother's sister, who was the only one to know where we were, contacted us, and alerted us that he was recruiting again.

"It was time we came out of hiding. This is a dangerous business; I don't even know our status with him now. We could be punished." Clara's eyes widened at his words.

"No… he wouldn't…" She breathed.

"We're sorry, Clara. We should have told you sooner." Her mother consoled. Clara gulped.

"What about the contract?" Clara said quietly, distracting herself from the horrid concept of Voldemort hurting her parents. Her father sighed.

"The contract was supposed to create the idea in the Dark Lord's mind that you weren't worthless, but worth much, much more to his new world idea. It would have to magically bind you to a worthy magical candidate and hold you to a promise that would be carried out seventeen years later." Her father took another moment to pause, for dramatic effect, she didn't know, but his next words knocked the sure wind out of her.

"We signed for your marriage when you came of age."

Clara stayed still.

"What?" She finally whispered.

"We had to do it!" He pleaded. "Even now, with the Dark Lord back in power, he will want to make sure the contract is still in place.

"Clara," Her father's voice was softer now, and he was on his knees in front of her chair, taking her hands in his. "Please, you must do what we ask. If you don't, we could all die. You must marry Draco and-"

"What!" Clara exclaimed, jetting out of her seat. She looked form her parents to the Malfoy's.

"Draco is a sure wizard in the eyes of the Dark Lord. If you marry him, you will be safe." Her father told her with his hands still clasping hers. She pried them away and stepped back, breathing hard.

Then she darted from the room, heart beating fast, and with the clap of her shoes against cold marble.

* * *

"Were terribly sorry for our daughter's outburst." Mrs. Claret apologized to the Malfoys. She felt disappointed Clara had acted so abruptly, but could not blame her child.

"It's quite alright, Mary. The girl only needs… time." Mr. Malfoy said cryptically. The Claret's nodded solemnly.

"We will still see you tomorrow evening?" Mary asked.

"Of course. We would not miss our son's engagement dinner." Mrs. Malfoy told them. Draco's eyes widened, but he stayed quiet. Luscious stood up, tall and imposing to anyone who did not know him as the Claret's did, and tapped his can on his son's left.

"We will leave now; there is a lot to prepare for." The man gave his arm to his wife and directed his son into the large fireplace at the head of the room. The couple stepped inside once Draco had gone and waved, Luscious adding, "Tomorrow night then!"

In a flash, they were eaten by the flames.

* * *

The flames had barely disappeared before Luscious Malfoy was charging towards his son, cane pointed.

"Sit." Mr. Malfoy commanded his son. Draco obeyed.

"I might as well lay all the rules for you now. No doubt you'll go searching for a loophole in the contract." Mr. Malfoy sighed in a way that told his audience he had better things to be doing. "Sixteen years ago, we signed this contract as a favor to a friend, with no idea the two of you would grow up to eventually loathe the sight of the other. The situation has changed." Luscious looked at his son imploringly. "You are to marry the girl. This family will not be shamed; you will do it." Mrs. Malfoy watched her husband sweep away, coat flying behind. Draco stared at the floor.

If there were anyone on earth so confused, it was the poor Malfoy boy. He was torn. The girl at the Claret Manor was quite a sight for sore eyes, someone he would have absolutely _no_ problem marrying forcibly.

Except for the fact that beneath her long curls, wide eyes, and thin lips laid Hermione Granger, bookworm extraordinaire, defender of everything un-pureblood, and Harry Potter's best friend, next to that twit, Weasel.

There first moment of true conversation involved him admitting that, yes, he was aware that she was that mudblood he had so avidly hated before. If that wasn't a conversation stopper, he didn't know what was.

His mother stared a moment longer after her husband, perhaps making sure he was surely gone, before turning to her dear Draco.

"Draco, you must listen to me." She spoke quietly, and with great earnest. Draco looked at his mother. "Your father… Your father's imprisonment was the deepest shame of the family. Do not shame us further by rejecting this marriage. If this marriage goes well, the Malfoy name will be restored." She paused for a moment to look back at the door. She dropped her voice to a whisper and got closer to her son.

"I know what the Dark Lord has asked of you this year, but you must conduct yourself without alerting anyone else not involved. The ministry will be watching us and the Claret's closely. We must not look suspicious." Mrs. Malfoy gripped Draco's hands tightly for a moment, as if the motion would allow Draco to see the heavy weight of the ordeal.

And it did.

As Mrs. Malfoy walked through the door her husband had taken, Draco buried his head in his hands, miserably succumbing to what he had to do.

* * *

_Pat, pat, pat._

She ran like a crazy woman down the corridors.

Clara's eyes were streaming, making navigating the confusing hallways even harder. She wobbled from side to side as her feet hit the floor dully.

_Oh my goodness, oh my goodness, oh my goodness…_

Oh, what cruel fate had done this to her? She was a good child, always doing her work. She was the top of her class! She was best friends with the Boy Who Lived, helping endlessly to defeat the darkest wizard of all time… Instead, she finds out her parents _work_ for the evil man. But not before they told her she had to _marry_ one of the cruelest boys she knew. All within twenty-four hours.

Her life seemed hopeless.

A door suddenly opened up ahead, embellished with only a pretty golden doorknob. Being under the influence of her intense emotions, Clara could hardly comprehend why on earth a door would open for her so mysteriously, so she ran inside, glad for the empty space. She threw herself into the nearest chair without the faintest idea to look around.

In a word, the room was regal.

The walls, the drapes, the ceiling and the lamps were a nice cream color. A grand chandelier hung from the top. The bed, with a cream colored cover, was king sized and had a large, drape canopy to match. In the center of the room was an intimate space for small gatherings, complete with two plush pink love seats, a coffee table, and two armchairs that matched the color of the walls. The carpet was floral printed.

The tears didn't stop, but the sobbing did. She lifted her head and wiped the water from her eyes, taking a sharp breath at what she saw. Her gaze lingered on the window and the large balcony outside overlooking the gardens. Suddenly, her chest filled with longing for an escape, a place to go that could be hers and hers only. If only…

"I see you've found your room." A woman asked behind Clara. Clara turned around to see her mother. "It was magically charmed for you when you were born." The older woman continued. Clara turned around obstinately and covered her face.

"Oh, darling." Mrs. Claret consoled. "I know this is-"

"You _know_?" Clara cut her mother off vehemently. "How could you possibly _know_ how I feel right now?" Clara turned away pointedly and rubbed her eyes while sniffing. "It's just…" She tried again. "It's just so much to take in…"

"We only did this for your safety, not because we want to see you miserable."

Clara said nothing. Mary sighed.

"Come dear, stand up. I want to take you somewhere." Clara's interest perked at the sound of leaving.

"Where are we going?" The younger witch asked.

"To my sister's house. To the Zabini's."

**How was it?**

**If anyone is confused about anything, feel free to let me know so I can clear it up. If you're confused about something, someone else probably is, too. **

**I know I like to have visuals, so here is the picture of the dress Hermione is wearing in this chapter. The (DOT)s should be replaced with periods. **

http:/www(DOT)flickr(DOT)com/photos/51066263N07/4720228912/

**This is Hermione's bedroom:**

http:/www(DOT)flickr(DOT)com/photos/51066263N07/4731850579/

**In the next chapter: A Zabini frenzy, an engagement dinner (to be taken in a very literal sense – wink, wink), and some more internal conflict. **

**Cheers!**


	4. Cousinly Affections

**The Forgotten Disclaimer: I own only one character. (You'll see)**

The Zabini's mansion was large, ornate, and, in all frankness, unimpressive in comparison to the Claret's home. Clara's mother stood on the doorstep, grabbed the serpent knocker, and pounded three times. The door opened in seconds.

"Mary!" A tall woman with dark hair and a wide smile greeted her mother enthusiastically. The two women had tears in their eyes. "We've all missed you. You must be Clara. Oh it's been to long!" The woman turned to the younger witch and pounced upon her, squeezing her tightly, as if she would disappear otherwise. "Let's all go inside and you can meet your cousins."

They stepped into a large, airy foyer. A grand staircase wound up to the right. The mahogany railing shone in the late afternoon glow.

"Muffy!" Clara's aunt called hoarsely. A small pink-pillow cased house elf appeared.

"Mistress called?"

"Go get Blaise and Jemma." She dabbed her eyes daintily and sniffed politely. The elf disappeared. _Jemma…_ Clara thought. _Where have I heard that name before?_ A bell dinged in her head. _Now I remember!_ Jemma, the unusually quiet Slytherin girl who carefully placed herself away from the rest of her house. Hermione had always thought it odd that such a pretty girl be cast away as an outsider, especially if her brother was so popular among their ranks. But then again… _maybe it was for the better._

"Please, follow me to the drawing room." They followed the host to the left. "When did you get back?" She asked.

"Last night. Poor Clara fainted from the excitement."

"Have you seen this morning's _Prophet_ then?" Mrs. Claret's sister asked, eyebrows raised.

"No… what does it say?" Clara's mother asked precariously.

"You'll have to see it for yourself."

The small party entered the drawing room, a cozy place with high armchairs and a small fireplace. _The Daily Prophet_ was resting on a small side table, open to the first page, which projected a photo of two individuals walking into a large house.

Her mother gasped loudly. "That's John and I! That's Clara in his arms!" Her mother began skimming the article. "_Suspected Death Eaters have returned! How will the Ministry deal with this… Went missing mysteriously after He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named fell fifteen years ago… Good friends of the Malfoy's…" _Her breathing deepened as she finished the reading, looking incredulous as she looked at her sister. "How did they get this so quickly? We apparated in the middle of the night!"

"I always thought those neighbors of yours were suspicious." Mary's sister replied. Mary huffed.

"Oh Annabelle, you know our closest neighbors are two miles away!" She sat in one of the armchairs heavily. "What will John say about… Oh, John! He's at the Ministry _now_!"

"Why is he there?" Aunt Annabelle asked. Mary buried her face in her hands.

"He's gone to explain things." Nobody had to tell Clara that by "explain things," her mother meant lying about their whereabouts for the past fifteen years.

"Oh, come dear, we can't have you upset on your homecoming!"Annabelle told her sister sitting down alongside and wrapping an arm around her. "Now, you'll just have to stay for dinner and not worry about your husband. You know how John is; he can talk himself out of anything. Why, don't you remember how at your wedding he-"

The door creaked open, snipping off the rest of her aunt's reminiscent story.

Clara had been quite involved in the whole scene, curious as to how her mother and sister interacted. Clara had always thought her mother was an only child, like herself, but now knew otherwise. It was also quite a treat to peak a look into the mysterious Zabini's home. The only time she had ever glimpsed the boy was during a Malfoy attack, and those only ever required Draco's words.

"Blaise, Jemma, my dears, come in and greet your family." Annabelle coaxed her children. The Italian boy bounded in, his long, shaggy hair bouncing with him. His behavior, though welcome, was extremely different than what Clara had initially expected. His long, slanting eyes were yellow, almost gold. His expression was sly, almost mischievous.

He walked straight to her, turned, nodded to her mother, "Aunt Mary," turned back to Clara, took her hands and kissed both her cheeks in brotherly affection. "You must be Clara."

"Blaise." Annabelle called to her son. "Show Clara the grounds; Mary and I have some catching up to do." Blaise obeyed, guiding his cousin out the door, where Jemma was standing. The pretty girl with light brown hair and a lighter complexion than that of her brother's gazed at Clara with blue eyes.

"Mother told us to give her the grand tour. What d'you say?" Instead of answering Blaise, Jemma sidestepped the boy to offer a hand to Clara.

"Hello, I'm Jemma." She said timidly. "My brother and I have talked about you a lot." Clara accepted the hand, but quirked an eyebrow at the comment. "Well, you know," Jemma began awkwardly. "We see you around Hogwarts all the time…" _So they know._ Clara recognized. _If Malfoy knows, then it's only logical they do as well._

"I see." Clara said. Blaise jumped in.

"Yes, you must forgive our offensives, if any. Back then you were only a measly muggle-born; today you're a cousin of the Zabini's, and that's quite something, I must say." His tone was warm, but his words struck Clara oddly. _Only a measly muggle-born…_ This was the first hint of arrogance in her friendly cousin, an arrogance she was all too familiar with. Clara glanced at Jemma, who was glaring at her brother.

Thus the tour began.

It was altogether uneventful, but not un-fun. The brother and sister she soon found out were "Irish twins." Aunt Annabelle had gotten pregnant again soon after she had given birth to Blaise in early January. Jemma was born August 31st, by some lucky stroke of fate, and so attended school in the same year as her brother. The fact that Clara was older disheartened her male cousin briefly, since he wished to assume the lead figure in the household. He couldn't do that with an older family member around.

Jemma was a nice, soft-spoken girl, except when it came to her brother. In that regard, things could get pretty nasty between the two. Blaise, on the other hand, was very out-spoken and over-confident. She wondered how she never noticed him at school before. Did the other Slytherins not joke around like he did?

They went upstairs, came back downstairs, walked through the gardens, and found themselves back in the foyer within three hours. Clara found it very easy to become close to them, and was thankful for it. By the end of the tour, she was already calling Jemma by her private nickname, Jem, and was laughing heartily at Blaise's obnoxious jokes. It was the first time she had felt normal all day.

Blaise took a smooth step to face the girls, ending one of his quirky musings with a bow. "And that, my ladies, is how you squish a blast ended skrewt." Clara continued her soft laughing, wiping her eyes as Jem attacked the joke's flaws.

"I don't get it. How can conjuring a group of merpeople increase your chances of getting rid of a skrewt?" Jemma was annoyed; her brother's jokes never made any sense to her. Clara found them ridiculous to the point of hilarity.

"Oh Jem," Blaise said while wrapping an arm around his sister's shoulder. "Don't get so frustrated when your intellect cannot comprehend a good joke when it hears one." Jem's jaw dropped.

"My _intellect?_" She scoffed. "I'll show you _my intellect."_

Unfortunately, Clara never got to see Jemma's intellect, because the children's mothers exited the drawing room.

"Just look at them, Mary." Aunt Annabelle said dramatically. Just the way she said it explained much about her personality. "Just like they were when they were babies." She threw her arms out to Clara. "And you poor girl, in the middle of this awful mess!" For the second time that day, Clara was enveloped into the fierce grip of her aunt, a fierce woman to begin with. "Everything will be fine, though; it always is. Draco is a fine boy and marrying him will increase you wealth beyond imagination. You'll hardly need to spend any time with him if worse comes-" Annabelle was promptly shushed by Mrs. Claret, telling her sister that her words "did no good" to her daughter. Blaise blanched.

"Did you just say that Clara, my cousin, is going to marry, Draco, my best mate?" He asked. "Blimey, I guess this means he and I are going to be family now. I wonder why that bugger didn't tell me before… ah, well, I'll be back ladies; I have an owl to send." In the blink of an eye he was already half way up the winding staircase.

"Hmm," Ms. Zabini murmured. "I suppose we can check on Muffy and the food now. I'll show you the estate, Mary."

This left only Jem and Clara.

"You're marrying Draco Malfoy?" Jem asked, almost incredulously.

"Yes. I am." Clara returned solemnly. The room was quiet with brooding for a minute.

"I'm not like them, you know." Jem said suddenly. "I don't believe in all that pureblood supremacy." She sighed and looked down at the table. "That's why I don't talk to anyone. Their views are too much different from mine. I think they know how I feel, too." The poor, dispirited girl tried a glance at her older cousin, anticipating the worst. She was surprised to find Clara wrap her arms around her.

"Oh! I knew you couldn't be like them!" Clara exclaimed. There _was_ hope in pureblooded society after all.

"Please don't be angry with my brother." Jem pleaded when the girls separated. "I don't really think he believes in any of this purblooded silliness, either, but he pretends to for his friends and our mum. Purebloods would shun and label us as blood traitors if she didn't appear bias." Jem put a palm to her cheek in worry. Clara placed an arm around her in comfort. Tears brimmed in Jemma's eyes.

"I can't stand it: pretending. It drives me mad sometimes. I see the way our guests speak of havoc wrecked on the muggles with smiles on their faces, and I can't ever justify it. It bugs me to no end." She took a big gulp of air. "I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't be telling you all this." Jem made to pull away, but Clara tugged the lost girl closer. She hugged her once more, stunned at the openness this reserved child had with her. It reminded Clara of a lost puppy as her inner Hermione shifted into place and stroked the girl's hair.

"It's alright." Clara heard herself saying. "We're in this together now."

Nothing more was said until dinner was called and the new friends went to their meal.

* * *

**The end of the chapter! I know I told you there would be an engagement dinner in this one, but I realized it needed a chapter all on its own. You will definitely get the engagement dinner next time, though, and lots of Draco/Hermione togetherness! **

**In the meantime, I have a few more things to say. **

**I'm unsure what to do with Blaise and Jemma romantically for this fic. Should they have love interests, or stay alone? I think I'm going to have a poll on that one, so everyone can get in on it. I'll let you know when. **

**Also, to further suspense, here is one single line from the next chapter:**

Her beautiful pink dress, her sparkling hazel eyes, and that magnificent soft-curled hair did much to disarm poor Draco Malfoy.

**That's all I have for now. I'll be writing until next time! (Which is hopefully very soon!) **


	5. A Fate Accepted

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters **

The next morning shined bright and rose through Clara Claret's wide open windows, sparkling against the chandelier. Our main girl stretched herself and threw the covers off, never having been one to dwell in bed too long. The room was a bit drafty, and she noticed the balcony door slightly ajar. The view of the grounds beyond was delightful. A small bird perched high in the tree next to her room sung a morning song. What peace, what wholesome bliss - until past forty-eight hour events were remembered.

A small frown slowly settled on her face and the young bird's song was no longer as sweet, the rolling hills no longer as amazing, and the ignorance of an early morning no longer present. Her discontent, however, was short-lived as Duffy appeared with a loud_ crack_.

"Good morning, miss. Duffy is here to prepare miss for her dinner tonight."

"Dinner? Why didn't mum or dad tell me about this? Are we having it with the Zabini's?" Clara asked her house elf. Duffy ignored her questions and instead offered her hand.

"If miss will please take Duffy's hand, Duffy may get young mistress ready sooner." Clara looked at the hand, breathing out sharply. "Master and mistress asked Duffy to tell young miss that Duffy is payed now. Ever since the masters return." Duffy told her. Clara looked quizzical. _Duffy is paid now? Why that would mean..._ Clara's heart expanded as she thought of how her parents must have taken notice of her SPEW antics after all. Clara grabbed Duffy's hand.

The first order of business was a sweet, firm scrub. She was sucked into what muggle writers would call a vortex, the tight feeling of apparating so aptly put, and transported to her private bath. Why they hadn't walked to it was beyond her, but the enormous tub fit for ten was filled to the brim with bubbly water and floating washer tools.

Duffy turned away respectively, politely giving Clara a moment to change and climb into the bath. On doing this, a scrub floating near her promptly dunked itself into the water and began cleansing her hair. An odd, foul smelling bar of soap began on her upper body. Duffy bowed and disappeared; most likely off to tell her parents that mission get-their-daughter-clean was a go.

The washing devices poked, prodded, stabbed, and jibed Clara until she felt rubbed raw. The soap, however, was no longer giving off its original detestable smell, but an invigorating aroma of something between strawberry and vanilla. Duffy reappeared an hour later to end all the fun. Duffy apparated Clara to her large walk-in and planted her at the mirror inside. This section of her already very energy consuming day took even longer than the shower had, lasting too many hours to count as the floating hair products further poked and prodded, this time with the occasional spray and odd tingling sensation. Her hair was piled on top of her head, let down again, and piled again several times before the magical hairbrushes decided on a loose bun allowing small tendrils of hair to hang at the sides of her delicate face. The brushes, combs, and hairsprays disappeared suddenly, and Clara had a moment to think before Duffy could come back and put her under some other painful object.

Where could they possibly be going that involved all this prep? In fact, where were her parents? Could they have at least came and told her? What were they hiding?

Her father had arrived home late the previous night bearing good news. The ministry was convinced that the Claret's were a respectable family (which they were) that had absolutely nothing to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or any of his followers. The ministry was even delighted to hear that their daughter would be marrying Draco Malfoy, son of a convicted Death Eater, in the coming year. Perhaps the goodness of the Claret family could help and influence the poor Malfoy boy.

What on earth were they doing over at the Ministry? And how did her father learn to persuade like that?

_Crack!_ Oh, Duffy's here.

The dresses Duffy had under her arms, however, were not greeted with such limited enthusiasm. Clara was certainly not a girl of vanity, and quite lacked a fashionable sense, but a beautiful dress is a beautiful dress. Not even Hermione could deny that one. Duffy held out her hand for (hopefully) the last time and took the young witch to her room, which was about two feet from where they had been before. Clara took a deep breath of air. The dresses were now laid out upon the sofas, ready for wear. She picked up a green thing, but set it aside quickly when she saw the low back. Where had all these dresses come from? She had a whole wardrobe of practical wear for dinner; why all these new ones?

So, one after the other Clara tried and discarded. It's a wonder how time flies when clothing is involved. There were sparkling gowns, frilly thigh highs, tiered cocktails, and even a kimono, oddly enough. Well, so long as Clara Claret had a say over what she wore, nothing three inches above the knee would ever be seen on her body. And anything bearing too much shoulder or back was simply out of the question. Sparkles drew far more attention than she ever wished for… that left the kimono, a deep green non-cocktail-ed tiered gown of fine velvet, and a lovely pink un-thigh high-ed frilly dress. All with the choice of three dark jackets. The kimono: automatically out. Her final decision was also an easy one to make: She wasn't ever going to sport a color even remotely resembling the Slytherin house. Not even if her life depended on it.

So the velvet dress was put in her closet (she could at least _look_ at it if she wasn't going to wear it) and the soft pink one was put aside with a complimenting black jacket. Just as she did this, her mother opened the door and stepped in.

"Can I see what you chose?" Mrs. Claret asked, though it wasn't much of a question because she strode forward and picked up the dress. She held it against her daughter's skinny frame and tilted her head. "This will be perfect." Mary said, more to herself than her daughter.

"Er, where exactly is it were going, mother?" Clara asked. What had she been preparing all day for? Her mother looked uneasy suddenly.

"Darling, please keep an open mind about this, alright. It is only in due process; we're not trying to make your life any harder." She cupped Clara's face in her hands and breathed out.

"I take it we'll be seeing the Malfoys tonight." Clara figured aloud. Hopefully they were going to a public place so she wouldn't have to see Lucius.

"It's your engagement dinner. There's a restaurant in London your father knows the owner of."

"Oh," Clara breathed. "Is that all?" At least it wasn't something like a wedding rehearsal…

"Yes, dear, that's all." Mrs. Claret smiled, relieved that her daughter was not unhappy about their dinner outing. "Now you better finish up, we'll be leaving in twenty minutes." Clara's mother swayed to the door in her regal gown, which Clara noticed dimly for the first time, and closed the door, the sound of her clicking heels muffled.

_An engagement dinner! And we're not even engaged yet!_ Clara thought with a small relief filling her. She zipped the dress up and by the time Duffy announced it was time to be off, Clara was ready had already stashed her wand – just in case.

* * *

_Clos Maggiore_ was full of people, wizards of course, but she had heard the whimsical owner opened it to muggles for a few hours during the day. Purebloods didn't look down upon that, though; it was simply a reasonable business venture.

A section of the restaurant was reserved strictly for the Claret party. The spot was off center in the room, which didn't call for any privacy whatsoever, but looked pleasant. The restaurant wasn't loud either.

Their table was already full and all conversation at it ceased when they walked through the double door entrance. The folks at the table were not all that Clara recognized, but they seemed excited to see her, or at least her parents.

A man stood up from the table when they reached it and offered his hand to Mr. Claret.

"Edmund Rivers, reporter from the_ Prophet_. Pleased to make your acquaintance." He shook their hands roughly and said all this very fast in a deep voice. A camera hung loosely around his neck. He sat down and the next man introduced himself.

"Good evening. I'm Rufurd Pint, an official from the ministry."

_A reporter from the Prophet and a ministry official? _What kind of dinner was this exactly?

"John Claret!" A large man boomed next. His accent was French and he had rudy cheeks with happy eyes.

"Jaques! How are you?" Her father and the owner of the restaurant embraced with manly affections.

"Oh, zis must be your lovely flower." Mr. Jaques said after the reunion was over. He kissed the top of Clara's hand with astute gentleman quality. He offered a sly smile. "Where have you been hiding all zese years, John?" He asked good-naturedly.

"That, my friend, is a story for another night."

Clara had already drifted towards the end of the table where Jemma and her tall brother sat.

"Clara!" Jem said when she saw her cousin moving their way. They hugged, already like sisters since Jem's heartbreaking confession. Blaise was next, smiling brilliantly.

Only a mere two chairs away Naricissa sat calmly. Draco was next to her at the head of the table, looking sullen. He was this way for many different reasons, particularly because he didn't want to see any more of his mother, who hadn't kept from fretting about his appearance since they had left the manor. What did anyone care how he dressed, anyway?

But the other thing that was bothering Draco Malfoy was standing four feet away and hugging his best mate.

She had stepped into the room, and for some unknown-to-him reason, it was almost as if the room became a little brighter. Strange. He hardly knew the girl. In fact, if he knew anything about her, it was that she was a know-it-all and a bookworm. But she didn't look that way anymore, so naturally the boy was confused and just a little frustrated about the situation.

Even now, her beautiful pink dress, her sparkling hazel eyes, and that magnificent soft-curled hair did much to disarm poor Draco Malfoy.

"Draco, pull your hair out of your face a bit. It is unbecoming for a young man like yourself to look that way." Mrs. Malfoy told her son. Suddenly, the optimistic feeling evaporated inside the young Malfoy and he was no longer infatuated with Miss Claret or any of part of her impeccable looks. Instead, he glared at his mother and sat up straighter.

The free time didn't last long. Soon Clara's father at the other end of the long table tapped a glass and called for the meal to start. A few people at the other tables surreptitiously glanced over to see the new development at the popular table. Seats were taken, Clara across form Mrs. Malfoy and next to Draco. Aunt Annabelle was next to her niece, the reporter and official beyond her. Across from their mother, Blaise and Jemma sat, Blaise closest to Clara. Next to Jem was Mrs. Claret, the furthest she could be from her helpless daughter without being Mr. Claret, who sat at the head, now engaged in conversation with the ministry official on his right. Mrs. Zabini began conversation immediately.

"My, my, Narcissa, you've raised Draco so well. He is quite the gentle man." She said 'gentleman' like it was two words. Clara felt a pang when she saw Draco's face droop ever so slightly. They talked about him as if he were someplace else… And then for a moment, Clara could understand a little bit about the way Draco felt. Was this always how Pureblood society acted? If it was, and if Draco had been engaged in it all his life, then he must have felt at least a little miserable about it. Especially if he was molly coddled, which she was almost positive he was.

"Yes, well," Narcissa was saying, "A good son means a good mother. I can't have my Draco running around like some insolent children I know." Her words sounded like they should bite. At what, Clara didn't know, but she noticed Annabelle avoided direct conversation with Mrs. Malfoy after that.

Clara could see the reporter in a deep discussion with her mother and wondered briefly what they were talking about.

The talking continued and all the while Clara and Draco stayed quite. The air around them was thick with awkwardness. Clara tried to at least make it _look_ like she was talking to the others, but to no avail. It was still painfully obvious that no lips were moving at that end of the table. From time to time Clara could feel a gaze upon her, and looked Draco's way to find him staring at her, as she had done to him only a few days before. It was odd and no one in their right minds would think them a couple, but nothing changed.

Then a miracle occurred: The food arrived. Talking cut back substantially and was replaced by the scraping of forks and knives as the table dug into their food. Clara prayed the meal would be fast so she could get herself out of the room and back home to safety.

After a time, the last of the clinking was done and the conversation started again. Clara decided to observe the dining room and the people in it. It was mostly couples, all regal in wear. Some occasionally allowed their eyes to wonder over to the exclusive engagement party dinner and scanned quickly, senses alert that this was no ordinary event.

It was only at the climax of desert that the final action took place. The dinner guests started looking around the table at one another and whispering. Mr. Rivers was fiddling with his camera. This excited Clara. _What are they waiting for?_ She wondered in a naïve way.

She was looking around the table in wonder, so of course she didn't see Draco stand up. Then all the eyes at the table turned to look her way.

"Clara Claret," Draco announced. Suddenly, every eye in the room was locked on their table. "Clara Jean Claret." He repeated, this time lowering himself to one knee. Her jaw popped open as she finally realized what everyone else already knew. _That's what this engagement dinner is – the engagement! _Her breath hitched in her throat. Something flashed, a light bulb perhaps, but she was too focused on Draco to care.

"We haven't known each other very long, but I know life with you is filled with promise." He pulled out a small, black heart-shaped box and opened it in front of her. A tear streamed down Clara's face. Oh, the betrayal.

"I will always be the husband I should and never shame you if you except." He continued. The place was pin-drop quiet.

"Will you marry me?" He finished. His voice had been monotonous and unwavering all through his speech. She was at a loss for words. How could she say yes to him, of all people, like this?

She knew how. She knew she had to do it, not for herself, but for her family. She hated that the fate of the ones she loved depended on her answer to this dreadful person kneeling in front of her, and she hated that she would be attached to him forever more, but she also knew that there were worse things in life, and that though it was close, this wasn't one of them. Enough tears to fill an ocean continued down her cheeks. It was a fate she would have to except.

The mood between the young couple was hideously unromantic as he stared blankly into her eyes. She desperately tried to fake a smile, but failed horribly, instead taking a deep, shaky breath and staring back hard into his deep gray souls.

"I will."

The room erupted into vivacious claps and whistles as Draco slid the pretty triple-diamond ring onto her finger.

And just like that, Clara Claret was engaged to Draco Malfoy.

* * *

**How was it? Please review! **

**And thanks to Hannah for the correction! **

**Here is the dress Clara/Hermione is wearing in this chapter: **

http:/www(DOT)flickr(DOT)com/photos/51066263N07/4692545888/

**Enjoy!**


	6. Out of the Loop

**Quick clarification: Yes, at this time in the books, Lucius and the other Death Eaters were in Azkaban. For this story, though, they haven't been put back into the prison. **

Clara sighed miserably. Duffy was gone again, leaving in the advent of a new house guest at the Claret manor.

In the past three days since the dinner at _Clos Maggiore_, visitors from old family friends had been pouring into their home. Clara had already met all of the Death Eaters, even the Azkaban escapees. Just the day before, she and Theodore Nott had been conversing pleasantly, while her parents discussed the latest wizarding gossip in the next room. He was quiet and respectful, but something about his manner told Clara he would throw a hex or two if need be. Something sneaky was nestled into the inner depths of his soul, too, but Clara had no idea where to look for that.

Crabbe and Goyle were also two very sporadic characters who were of the first school mates that had come. To put it simply, it was a meeting with Dumb and Dumber. Their admirations for Clara's beauty lead them to attempts of charm which in turn ended in a broken side table and two very angry mums. The experience was altogether embarrassing.

These moments never failed to incite memory of her best friend, Ron, who would have no doubt accused her of fraternizing with the enemy. Unfortunately, there would be no more ridiculous conversation with the boy – someone she had always held a little more, different kind of affection for. There would be no more talking to the Boy Who Lived or the Weasley girl, or anyone associated with Gryffindor, for that matter.

Two days ago, Mary and John Claret told their daughter of the letter they sent to Harry Potter and the Weasley family the night of their homecoming, the night Hermione Granger had been due to arrive at the Burrow. It was written in her script and told them that her parents said Hogwarts was too dangerous a place for their only child. The boys and Ginny had replied quickly, stating her parents were "barking mad" and "absolutely mental," and even suggested they visit St. Mungo's.

Clara was furious with her family for it. First the engagement dinner betrayal and now they sent letters to friends behind her back! In the end, though, it didn't matter, because she still had to sit through meetings with immature testosterone pumped boys who couldn't tell their wit from their – well, they couldn't tell.

So there Clara waited, politely poised on a drawing room sofa. Who was it this time? A new Death Eater recruit? Maybe Crabbe had come back to try snogging her again…

Clara was surprised when Lucius Malfoy entered the room.

"Good afternoon, Lucius." Her father greeted solemnly. Quite an unusual tone for who the guest was. Lucius nodded his white-haired head.

"John." He answered in the same tone. His wife and Draco entered a moment later. Mrs. Malfoy looked a little… disturbed, if Clara did think so herself.

"Are you children ready?" Mrs. Claret asked.

"Ready for what?" Clara asked. What had they kept from her this time?

"The two of you are going to Diagon Alley this afternoon to purchase your things for Hogwarts." Clara's father told them. Clara glanced at Draco, who did and said nothing. Why was she always the last to know?

"Yes, but first, a few things need to be said. Sit." Mr. Malfoy commanded. The couple obeyed immediately.

"Here are the rules," The imposing man said like a drill sergeant. "There will be no fighting, no unusual situations visited, and no public displays of affection." _No problems there, _Clara thought bitterly. "If you find the tension unbearable, there may be allowed a peck of the lips. Nothing more." His words seemed to scoff, fully aware of the discontent the teens had for each other. "The two of you will always be arm in arm; there must be no doubt that you aren't a respectable young couple with only innocent intensions." Clara's stomach turned at his light insinuation. She looked away from him and to her parents who didn't seem to be paying attention. Narcissa was looking at her husband. What was with everyone today?

"If that's all, we must get moving then." Her father said through the silence. She and Draco were promptly ushered out of their seats and to the fire place. Clara went first.

"Here, dear, take this. It's money for your things." Clara's mum handed her a heavy golden trimmed purse. She shook it slightly; it rattled loudly.

"Where are you going?" She asked her parents, floo powder in hand.

"We'll be visiting the Malfoy manor today. Just enjoy yourselves." Her dad answered with solemn eyes. As Clara stood in the middle of the fireplace, a feeling of uneasiness reached her. She didn't want to leave her parents for some reason. Why was that? She sighed audibly. They were probably keeping a secret from her again. The idea did little to null her uncomfortable feeling of impending doom.

"Keep each other safe!" Narcissa added.

Clara yelled "Diagon Alley!" without too much more thought and threw the dust down, bursting into flames.

* * *

Draco appeared in the fireplace of The Leaky Cauldron not long after Clara. A few inhabitants of the ghastly establishment glanced over at the couple, but said nothing. Draco brushed himself off with an air of superiority and then stood to full height, his back straight. Clara and Draco stared at each other blankly before he, with a tensed jaw, offered his arm. She took it only a little unwillingly; what else was she supposed to do?

Not before long, the couple was standing in the middle of Diagon Alley, the separating bricks far behind them.

Clara breathed out. It was official: they were _out_ together. Everyone would see for themselves…

It happened right away. People whispered in their tight clumps and pointed, staring in amazement at the two, or maybe the fact that Draco Malfoy was with a female other than his mother. Men glanced enviously at him with the lovely Clara Claret.

All this made Clara feel uncomfortable, since it wasn't a kind of attention she was used to receiving. Draco seemed to hardly notice, however, and steered them down the small street.

The first stop on their formidable journey was Madame Malkins, which the madam was not actually present at. Draco took a seat at one of the armchairs positioned around the room and Clara sat beside him. The madam bustled in not a moment later, excited to see some customers.

"Hogwarts robes?" She questioned. Draco nodded the affirmative before she disappeared, only to reemerge in the blink of an eye and motion for Clara to stand on the short platform. In a flash, the old witch had a robe over her customer and was stabbing the fabric with sharp needles.

"Are you new to Hogwarts, dear?" Malkins asked in a way of genial conversation.

"Yes. I'll be entering my sixth year." Clara said. Malkins bobbed her head. If she recognized Clara from the newspaper, she didn't show it.

Many cuts – and possibly scars – later, Clara stepped down from the Madame Malkins clutches and traded places with Draco. It was then that things sort of flew apart.

She was sitting in her chair, engulfed, quite vainly, in the latest _Witch Weekly_, whereupon the door opened and in walked Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, unaware of anyone in the store but themselves. Naturally, Clara almost dropped her magazine, her heart beating so fast it was a wonder they couldn't hear it from across the room. It was then that Harry noticed this rather curious girl in the corner and looked at her, wondering why this young lady looked so terrified. Unfortunately, before any of this could be reckoned upon, a sniveling voice filled the silent shop.

"If it isn't Potty and Weasel. Who did that to your eye, Weasel? I want to send them flowers."***** Ron's eye had a nasty purple bruise on it, making it even harder for Clara to control her worry. She was squirming in her seat now. Ron's face turned a furious red and Harry had his wand out.

"Where's your mum, Malfoy?" Harry taunted. Draco stepped off the platform. Madame Malkin was shrinking further into her chair.

"Where's your mudblood girlfriend, Weasel?" Draco countered, his wand now tight in his hand, turning his knuckles white. Ron became even redder, if that was possible, and was ready to lunge when something collided with Draco Malfoy's head.

_Thwack!_

"What-?"

"Draco Malfoy, where are your manners?" An enraged Clara scolded, magazine rolled up in her hand. She realized she had acted a little boldly to Draco's comment, but her feelings had seized her and took hold. She couldn't bear to be on the opposing side of a Slytherin/Gryffindor battle, especially when her two best friends thought she was the enemy. Besides, fiancé of a Death Eater's son or not, she wasn't going to have the boys think ill of her for more than a second, if she could avoid it. Draco was outraged. "That is no way to talk to people!" She flashed a brilliant smile to the two dumbfounded teens. "You must forgive him; he can be quite rude at times. No need to keep your wands out. We'll be leaving now." That ended up coming out a little more nervously than she would have liked, but the effect of disarming the confused Harry and Ron was achieved. They looked dumbfounded, amazed anything even remotely associated with _the_ Draco Malfoy could be so… sensible, and even a little naïve. Clara dragged Malfoy out of the shop, his pale face turning a very odd shade of pink, as the Golden Duet gazed on. The bell jingled loudly behind them.

Oh, she could feel it. She could feel his deep contempt and inevitable loathing, floating around in the air before he uttered a word to her. She could tell he was about to unleash something that wouldn't at all be good for her. So she said, as haughtily as she could, "You're lucky I interceded when I did! How do you think a fight between the son of a Death Eater and the boy who put his father in jail would go with the Ministry?"

Draco unleashed his scathing wrath. "I don't ever, _ever_ want you to do that again. Do you hear me? I don't care if the entire wizarding world is watching. I will _not_ be underhanded in front of Potter or the blood traiter." He turned and stalked away. That was the first time she had ever been scared of the ferret. His eyes had burned in livid light, anger so fierce, she wondered how he controlled himself so well.

It took a moment for Clara to gather herself and follow the boy down the street. He was turning into Quality Quidditch Supplies. She stopped in front to wait, and was just about to reconsider doing so, when he walked out. His face was calmer now, and told Clara that he was back in control of his emotions. Without looking at her he offered his arm, which Clara had no choice but to accept. At least the Malfoy storm had settled. Maybe Quidditch was a good outlet for hard cases, Clara thought.

They walked their way down Diagon Alley, shop hopping as they located their Hogwarts equipment. Not a word was said during this time and it became second nature for Clara to take Draco's arm upon exiting a store. From the Apothecary they went to Scribbulus Everchanging Ink, where large amounts of parchment were purchased. It was here, too, that Clara realized just how much money her family had given her. Quite a ridiculous amount, really, but still the better, because the Gringotts line was extended to the end of the street. After this, they continued on down the road, aiming for Flourish and Blotts, but not before passing Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Clara was amazed at the size of it and a little impressed at their audacity to post a sign comparing "You-Know-Who" and "U-No-Pooh." It was brilliant, she silently admitted to herself. Unfortunately, her eyes fell on Harry and the Weasleys entering the shop, being greeted by the enthusiastic twins, Fred and George. She turned her head sharply, forcing herself not to think that she should have been there, too, enjoying the Wheezes, no matter how much she may have disapproved in the past.

Finally, they made it to Flourish and Blotts, where, like in all the other shops, they parted ways to gather their supplies. It didn't take long for Clara to get carried away with the overwhelming amount of books in the store and seat herself on the floor with a rather large edition on her lap. Her Hogwarts books were neatly piled next to her, ready to be bought as soon as she finished this last sentence….

Three shelves over, Malfoy planned. It was perfect: Claret was already enraptured in one of her humongous novels or what not. Who knew how long it would be before she stopped and actually came looking for him? Well, before she would even make it to page three hundred, Draco's errand will have been completed and his other plan in the works. He would be back in the shop before she even knew it.

Clara however, was not content with her book, due to its large print and frequent pictures, so she decided to grab a different version. She happened a glance at the window, where something – or someone – seemed to be moving rather quickly, and saw the blond boy traveling across the alley's pavement. He glanced back once or twice in insecurity about his plan, but was reassured when no one was following. Back in the shop, Clara shoved her book back on the shelf and exited the shop, being sure to cover her person behind all the right corners.

Clara Claret was certainly not naïve enough to believe Draco was simply too angry to go with her to the next shop. No, he was up to something. She ducked behind a brick pillar as he checked again. She watched him turn left into Knockturn Alley. Quickly, and as quietly as a cat, she slid around the corner.

She was surprised to see the area completely deserted, as if the Dark Lord were conducting a little summer shopping himself down these dank streets. Draco was not too far away from where Clara was standing, and she had to duck once more when Draco checked for unwelcome attendees again. He stepped into Borgin and Burkes then, igniting a curiosity in Clara like never before. She moved herself closer to the display window and watched Draco's motioning hands as he explained something to Mr. Borgin.

Where were those Extendable Ears when you needed them? She could see the two figures perfectly, Draco putting on a "grouchy" face and directing what looked like nasty comments at the proprietor. Mr. Borgin seemed to be denying Draco a very important service, which was what was getting the young wizard's knickers in a twist. Just before Clara lost her nerve and headed back to Flourish and Blotts, Draco lifted his sleeve.

What Clara saw stopped her heart.

The Dark Mark was there, imprinted in his skin; a horrible picture of a snake erupting out of a skull's mouth. Mr. Borgin looked even more nervous. Draco pointed to a large cabinet behind him and within the next minute, he was out of the store and pleasantly strolling down the street. Clara ducked behind another pillar, out of his peripheral vision.

Draco was a Death Eater? Never could the girl have guessed it, or even though it. Why would Voldemort do that? He was unqualified and even too young to apparate… She was suddenly struck with a bemusing idea.

She stuck her head out from behind the pillar and looked down the street. Nothing. Carefully edging herself away from the wall, Clara walked to the door of Borgin and Burkes with great confidence and opened the door to the little shop. It was small and dark and Mr. Borgin looked at her curiously.

"Good afternoon, sir. I'd like to inquire about that cabinet." To be honest, it was the first thing to pop into her head, but the owner's reaction was immediate.

"What of it?" Mr. Borgin asked suspiciously.

"As to why my fiancé was interested in it." Clara looked at him imploringly. Again, where had these words come from? She had definitely never been so inclined as to call Draco anything other than 'ferret' before.

"Well, I'm sorry miss, but it is a private matter between your fiancé and I." Mr. Borgin answered quickly. He suddenly seemed nervous again.

"Excuse me, sir." She started indignantly. "Do you know what this ring on my finger means?" Clara more or less shoved her ring in the old man's face. "This is the universal symbol for union ship. His business is my business. We _are_ each other's business. Now, please, _tell_ me what he was doing in here before I hex you into oblivion." Apparently, she was good on the threats today, because Mr. Borgin pulled his neck collar and licked his lips, preparing to talk.

"He wants it mended, alright? I don't know any more than that. That's all he told me." He looked ready to give her anything she wanted.

"What does it do?" She asked as she examined it. There was a moment's hesitation from Borgin, and Clara waited for his answer while a very loud raven landed just outside the door and flapped its wings around.

"It has a twin you can access by means of this one wherever it is." He said over the birds obnoxious cawing.

"You mean you just go inside and…"

"Yes." He said.

"And you don't know why he wanted it fixed? Do you know where the twin is?" Clara asked.

"That's all he told me." Mr. Borgin was getting nervous again and glanced outside at the large bird. _Strange, _Clara thought. _What does Malfoy need with an old cabinet and its twin?_ She finished scrutinizing the cabinet and stood up straight.

"Thank you for your hospitality. I'll be sure to site you in my sources, but I must be going now. And remember, not a word of this to anyone." Clara turned on her heel and clicked out of the shop, doorbell jingling. The pesky raven was nowhere in sight now. Clara pondered everything she had been told by Mr. Borgin while trying to get back to Draco without him noticing. She was further proved out of the loop by this new development, and it irked her in the weirdest ways. What she didn't know, however, was that all of her questions were going to be answered, and every loop filled, in less than twenty-four hours.

* * *

***Yes, I took that from the book. I laughed at that joke long before I began shipping for Hermione and Draco.**

**How'd everyone enjoy it? Please review!**

**I officially have a poll up for the romantic interest of Blaise Zabini! Please vote! You can access it from my profile by clicking the Vote Now! button at the top of the page. The poll will stay up two weeks from now - the day I've posted this chapter. **

**Other than that, I'll be writing the next chapter until next time!**


	7. A Meeting of Sorts

**I don't own Harry Potter or the characters, only this plot.**

By five o'clock, all the shops were closed. Clara assumed it was because of the current safety of the wizarding world. Draco pulled her through the empty streets, quickly scanning for unwanted followers. They walked back to Knockturn Alley, to Clara's surprise, and ended up in front of Borgin and Burkes once again.

"What are we doing here, Draco?" She asked. He hadn't found out about her visit before, had he? He ignored her question. Three knocks on the door did the trick; Mr. Borgin opened it.

"Please, come in." He asked of the young couple. Mr. Borgin hardly glanced at Clara. _Thank goodness,_ she thought. "The fireplace is ready for your departure, Mr. Malfoy." Borgin informed.

"Good." Draco replied shortly. "Not a word to anyone about this, you remember." The owner of the decrepit shop nodded affirmatively. Draco practically pushed Clara into the oversized fireplace.

"Floo yourself to Malfoy manor. I'll follow shortly." He tone was clipped, and nearly put Clara on edge, if it wasn't for her stark curiosity.

"Why are we going there?"

"Just go. Now." Draco commanded. Clara grabbed the floo powder obstinately and threw it onto the floor with force, shouting "Malfoy manor" quite viciously._ The nerve of that wretched ferret! _Thought Hermione._ How dare he order me around like-_ Her body erupted into flames for the second time that day.

Clara arrived with a _whoosh!_, if anyone had been there to hear it. The flames left, just like her plight with Draco, and Clara was met with an eerie silence she wasn't akin to hearing unless something evil was lurking nearby. She stepped out from the slightly raised platform tentatively, flinching when her right heel clacked loudly against the marble. The hall was huge, obviously used for balls in the past, and was as deserted as Diagon Alley had been for most of the day. There were two large wooden doors at the other end that Clara could see by the faint light filtering through their cracks. She took another step and her heel echoed loudly in the quiet.

There was a burst of bright light behind her and she spun around, her hand jumping to her chest. It took her nerves a moment to recognize the arrival of Draco and his use of the floo network. She breathed deeply.

"What's wrong?" Draco quipped upon seeing her terrified state. "Never seen a floo before?" He hopped down and began an arrogant stride across the floor. She clacked behind him. Clara noticed an elaborate chandelier in the middle of the ceiling, grand in its unused fixture. Clara wondered how long it had been since it was lit.

As they approached the door, the sound of soft voices could be heard, even through her loud heels. The voices stopped when they were on the other side. Draco prepped himself, and, with no flourish whatsoever, opened the right door only enough for a single body to enter. Clara peeked in and saw that the room was lit by candles all over the place: On top of bookshelves, over the long table in the room, floating in mid-air, and even on the floor. Clara hoped there was a spell over those.

Clara entered smoothly after the Malfoy. She was nervous and didn't know what to expect. Was it dinner? Or were her parents here to relay some other deeply depressing news?

What was really waiting for her shut her system down.

It was odd how she saw him first, since he was at the other end of the table, but his presence commanded so much attention, that it was hard not to notice. Lord Voldemort offered a sinister smile.

"Welcome, Ms. Claret, to the Malfoy manor." He said. His high pitched tone chilled her insides. "Please, take a seat." He added. Clara couldn't move a muscle. All movement was suspended and readmission was pending in that brilliant mind of hers. No one moved. Something in the back of her mind told her to breathe, that she wasn't getting enough oxygen to her brain, but all action was impossible. The room was tilting threateningly, and she almost fell over, but not before the Dark Lord spoke again.

"I told you to _sit_." His voice was controlled and agitated. In the back of Clara Claret's mind, a thought sparked into life, alerting the rest of her senses and giving her that breath she so desperately needed. Her tendons flexed and the legs took shaky steps to the closest seat.

"Excellent." He hissed. Clara hid a shiver. "Now, Mary, John, I do hope you understand your folly. We must not revisit your… punishment." Clara looked at her parents for the first time. They were in horrible shape, their faces paler than Draco's with eyes sunken in. Her father's hair was disheveled and her mother's doo seemed only worse. They nodded expressionlessly.

"You are marrying Draco Malfoy?" Voldemort asked Clara.

"Yes." She squeaked.

"Then you will have to be informed." Silence. "As everyone knows, I marked the boy a short time ago. When I did this, I gave him a task. His job is to get rid of the old dragon, _Albus Dumbledore_."

This information didn't hit Clara as hard as seeing Voldemort had, but it still did wonders to shake her up. Killing Dumbledore? What nonsense was this…? The Dark Lord had a sneer on his face.

"Since the two of you will soon be joined in union, you will be aware of Draco's actions, but you are not to help him. Draco must… prove himself. You will be given the dark mark also." These words were met with more silence, but caused an uproar in the depths of Clara's head. This was it…_ I have to marry Draco… Draco has to kill Dumbledore… I have to get the mark! _Finally, after the exhausting news of her life to come, Clara collapsed upon the floor in an ungraceful heap.

* * *

When Clara rose from her deep slumber, her surroundings were… comfy. In fact, they felt a lot like her sheets from her room… She gasped, bolted upright, and then gasped again from the pain. Her head throbbed and ached. She centered herself for a moment, and after the room stopped spinning, she looked down at her body. It looked fine underneath her short sleeved nightgown; no missing limbs or broken bones from what she could tell. The fast beating of her heart calmed as she let out a breath of relieved air. But as soon as she relaxed her shoulders, she spotted the inside of her left forearm.

Cleanly raw and horrifically gut wrenching, the tattoo of a snake erupting from the depths of a demented skull head marred her skin. The Dark Mark, in all its monstrous glory, was imprinted there.

* * *

**How was it? **

**I already have my outline for the next chapter mapped out in my head, so that shouldn't take too long to write. **

**In the mean time, I have to say, I'm really excited about the amount of people who have voted so far in the Blaise Zabini poll. I know 'nine' isn't necessarily a lot, but I'm glad people are interested. Just remember, by this Sunday – wherever you are in the world – the poll will be closed and the results final. Happy voting!**

**Coming up: A talk with cousin Blaise and quite possibly a train ride to Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. **


	8. The Deciding Deal

**Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter **

_Dear Harry,_

_I'm really sorry I won't be able to see you before you head off to Hogwarts. I'll miss you all so much. You'll have to tell me everything and send an owl whenever you need help. And be good! Please keep safe and out of trouble; I know how hard that can be for you sometimes. My parents will be homeschooling me until things become safer. They said I may be able to visit over the winter holiday, though. _

_Send my love,_

_Hermione _

The letter was short, she knew, but Clara thought it would suffice. Harry wasn't very big on long text. She watched Hedwig soar through the window after attaching the envelope to his leg. Harry would get it before nightfall.

Clara sighed and turned to the papers and textbooks sitting next to her on her plush pink sofa. Her Hogwarts letter was laid out, a most peculiar one of sorts. It greeted her benignly, making sure to fill her in on the basic layout of Hogwarts and its "goal of creating better witches and wizards for the betterment of the future magical world." The strangest part, however, came in the second part of her letter.

The letter told her that she was automatically placed in Slytherin, no magical hat needed. This was only odd because she was arriving, for the second time in her life, as a new student. Why would the school automatically place her in the one house almost the entire school despised? Clara sensed some outside-source meddling had taken place – from her parents she was pretty sure of – but couldn't understand why the school would go along with it, and why. Frustrated about her wicked new housemates and the mysterious coincidence of her placement with them, Clara looked up at her ceiling with a huff.

Clara had been in her room for three weeks. Since the night of her marking – as she was calling it – communication with her parents had ceased. She had commanded Duffy to magically lock her bedroom door to the outside world, and under no circumstance letting her caretakers enter. They felt horribly guilty. That evening, Clara had sobbed and sobbed, as they pounded on the door, demanding they let her in, throwing spell after spell on the door, but to no avail. She wasn't coming out for anything.

Even if Voldemort demanded her presence.

So there poor Clara stayed, turning a sickly pale and becoming even thinner than she had ever been, due to her eating habits. Duffy was told to only prepare two meals a day, to be brought to her room, once at eleven o'clock and then again at five. Clara normally fell asleep before eight o'clock in the evening. She was on the verge of becoming alarmingly depressed in her state, an issue her parents were well aware of, but could do nothing about. Clara sighed petulantly and went to fetch a book from the tall shelf in her room.

_Knock, knock, knock_. Silence.

"Hermione?" Her mother sounded. Clara was still. Why had her mother used her other name? Was it to coerce her into conversation? In the end there was no answer. Mary Claret's clicking heels could be heard down the hall. Clara returned to her search and grabbed a random cover. It was heavy enough that she knew it could distract her for a good while.

Her mother coming to the door was not new. She had done this everyday for three weeks, at the beginning standing at the door for ten minutes before walking away. Gradually, the effort had dwindled, till it had become not so much as a tap on the frame.

This was mostly how Clara's days were spent: Studying her books, waiting for familiar owls, and nibbling on her small meals. Once a day, she would venture out onto the balcony for a few minutes, soaking up sunlight. She never closed the blinds either; the vast gardens and lands outside were still too beautiful for Clara to shut away. That much, she had to herself. It was almost a mild form of torture: Clara so desperately wanted to enjoy the grounds, but her anger at her parents kept her back. It was silly pride, but one she was fostering heartedly.

Meanwhile, the books she found were keeping good company. There was a particularly glossy spine with gold printed words that she had noticed on the shelf just three days before. Purebloods: A Guide was the name of the text. It was amazing. It covered all the basics of the society she lived in – and the outside people who made it happen. For instance, most famous clothing designers in the muggle world are ten times as famous in the wizarding world (that's how they made their fame – through magic). Still, though, the people who actually buy the clothes exist mainly in Pureblood culture – most namely, the Cabaret's, the Windsor's, the Zabini's, the Longborough's, and finally her own family. They were all named, right there in the book. In return for these family's unparalleled purchasing, designers maintained close relationships with all of the families, some more than others, and often sent them free pieces to wear at their leisure. One company – Dior, it was called – was especially commended in practicing this. Clara knew she owned a couple of dresses by them, but she had had no idea they came from the people themselves. In truth, it didn't really matter to Clara, though, because she was never one to care much about fashion, much the less where her clothes came from.

The train for Hogwarts would leave in a week. A great part of her wasn't excited to see the Hogwarts Express this year. She wouldn't be sitting with her friends, she wouldn't be sharing a dormitory with people she liked, and she wouldn't be there to scold Ron when he didn't do his work properly. Most importantly though, she wouldn't be able to be Hermione Granger, defender of elfin rights, or defender of everyone not Pureblood; and all because she was one of them. She dug deeper into the contents of her book, forgetting the sad truth of her existence.

Three hours later, another knock sounded on the door.

_Knock, knock_. The beats were hard and fast, unlike either of her parents. Maybe they were trying new tactics.

"Clara? Open the door, will you? Your demented cat looks about ready to pounce." Blaise said from the other side. Clara jetted out of her seat on the sofa, and then stopped herself. She bit her lip. Should she let him in and thus prove that she was talking to the outside world?

Clara decided it would do no harm. Besides, it wasn't Blaise she was angry with.

"Clara…?" He called. She opened the door slightly. Crookshanks skittered in. Blaise looked relieved. He was so relieved, in fact, that he bounded through the door way, dropping himself on her fresh, pink couch. "Thanks, love." He told her. Then he really took a look at her and blanched slightly. "My, you look dreadful. What have you been doing in here?" Clara scowled at his blunt comment. He decided to switch tactics when the humongous book on the table caught his attention. "What the devil are you reading?" He asked.

They looked at the cover, _Mortuus_, before Clara pushed it aside, away from her thoughts, and directed her full attention to Blaise.

"What are you doing here, Blaise?" Her voice was raspy, because she hadn't spoken in a while, so she cleared her throat and repeated the question.

"They told me you were holed up in here. I thought I might come by and lift you from boredom, but it seems you were having much more fun without me." He smiled, his handsome face lighting up. Hermione sighed.

"Very funny, Blaise. Now tell me, why are you here?"

"I see you're not the Brightest Witch of our Age for nothing." He said sarcastically, leaning back on the fluffy cushions. "Why are you sulking in this dull place when you could be outside in the fresh air?"

"I am not _sulking_." She defended, though rather impishly.

"Shall we call it withering away, then?" He jived.

"Call it whatever you like." She said, snatching – as best as you can snatch a twenty pound object – Mortuus and getting out of her seat. "I'm going to continue reading in peace." She marched away, in search of a nonexistence Blaise-free haven without leaving her room. That really only left the loo…

"Oh, come off it Clara!" Blaise exclaimed, jetting out of his comfy spot. "Wait – Wait!" He grabbed her arm, swiftly turning her around. "Fine," He began before she could complain, "I'll tell you why I'm here. I know the situation you're in is… uncomfortable, but-" There was a resounding _whoosh_ of air as Clara impressively raised the large book and smacked it against his arm.

"Don't you try and soften me with those sympathetic words, Blaise Zabini." Clara accused. She began her walking again.

"I'm not trying to soften you. I'm trying to reason with you." He said, right on her tail.

"Reason with me?" She asked.

"Yeah, like, you know, maybe this whole marriage deal isn't as bad as it seems." Blaise nearly bumped into Clara as she halted suddenly.

"Are you serious?"

"OK… maybe it could be better, but Draco can be alright when he wants to be." Blaise watched Clara turn her back and continue walking as she scoffed. "You don't understand." Blaise tried again. "You don't understand what's happening behind the scenes. Clara!" He hissed, grabbing her arm again, very serious all of a sudden. "He's been acting out of character for weeks. I think… I think the Dark Lord has branded him. Please, can you just try? He's my best mate Clara."

Hermione was stunned to silence. The deep concern in Blaise's eyes was startling. His light and airy mood was gone, replaced with a strong need to protect his friend of so many years. It reminded Hermione of her friendship with Harry, Ron, and Ginny and how she would do anything for them. She took a breath.

"Well, then you should know that it's already been done." Clara watched as her cousin's face dropped and he nodded seriously. Her heart went out to him, but what could she do? Draco was a very hard creature to persuade. How could she… an idea suddenly formed in Clara's mind.

"I'll make you a deal." She offered. "I try and help Malfoy and you make sure he stays away from the Gryffindors." Blaise looked at her skeptically, almost incredulously, as if an act such as that could not be carried out, and considered her offer for a moment.

"Agreed." He finally stated. Clara clucked her tongue.

"I don't think I'll ever understand you Slytherins. One minute you're laughing in each other's faces, and the next you're concerned for their well-being! It's ridiculous!"

Blaise laughed, quickly reverting to his usual, jovial self.

* * *

Platform 9 ¾ was rambling with the hum of chatter between child and parent as students bustled about, preparing for the long journey to Hogwarts. A group of teenagers, no older than fifth years, stood just outside the train's doors, laughing together happily. A pair of small first years watched passerby insecurely as their parents encouraged them to make the first step onto the train.

On the other side of all this good fun, a calm young woman had just appeared from behind the platform wall. She was smartly dressed, her hair exquisite with her lovely physique, and make-up not a tad over done. In her cart were only two items: a small shoulder bag and a mahogany wood box holding her cat, both of which she picked up with the gracefulness of a dancer. Her cart was pushed to the side as she waited patiently.

Not a moment passed before Draco glided through the wall – with a cart much fuller than Clara had had. Clara looked complacent as Draco picked up both of their trunks and carried them to the train. She knew he hated doing anything if there wasn't something in it for him, so this made it all the richer for her. She had also decided to load her luggage with a couple extra dozen twenty pound books, just in case his resentment wasn't enough.

Clara couldn't help feeling even more so delighted by the looks people were giving them. Many mothers looked at Draco proudly, not for his reputation, but for his gentlemanly way in helping with the heavy luggage, no matter that hers was much bigger and quite inconvenient to handle, especially in its blue, flower printed design – apparently a gift from a "Louis V." Clara knew Draco hated this all the more.

Clara's soft smile only faltered when on the steps to the train Draco showed no struggle in handling the large equipment through the narrow corridors. Mere moments later, Blaise pulled himself out of a compartment. Draco grunted by as his best friend pressed himself against the edge of the door. While he put the luggage up, Blaise and his cousin shared a hug and a fleeting look; their deal was very much still intact.

"How've you been, mate?" Blaise asked Draco. Draco shrugged his shoulders.

"Fine, I suppose." said Draco gruffly. Blaise frowned slightly at his friend's distant response. After this the three sat down, Clara gravitating towards Jem, who was sitting in the corner of the small space, next to the window. The girls chatted away while the boys sat across from them silently, exchanging words only on Blaise's part. Draco's attention was directed into the sky. Soon enough, the door slid open and Nott and Parkinson entered. Pansy's gaze seemed to reproach the other females in the compartment, much to Hermione's defense.

"Pansy." Blaise greeted, inclining his head a little.

Her snide features kept for one more second on Jem and Clara before turning into a pout as she looked at their male companions.

"Oh, Draco!" She exclaimed, disregarding Blaise's formality. Draco seemed to come out of a trance suddenly. Clara quirked an eyebrow.

"Is it true?" The eccentric Pansy inquired. "Did you really…" Her gaze floated back to Clara and narrowed at the neatly folded hands on the other girl's lap. Clara looked down and saw the engagement ring shining in the sunlight streaming through the window. She instinctively tucked her ring finger under the opposite hand, concealing the gorgeous jewel and earning a sneer from Pansy. Clara would have gladly given the ring to her, if it wasn't magically glued to her finger. Indeed, she had come home crying the night of the engagement, desperately tugging at the ring, only to find that it didn't give.

"Oh, you must feel _horrible_ to be with _her_…" Pansy said, pushing her way between Blaise and Draco. Clara couldn't help but feel a little hurt at the mean girl's comment. It was a feeling she was too accompanied with, a feeling that came with a bookworm such as herself: A feeling that she didn't belong. Jem must have noticed Clara's fallen expression, because she placed a hand on her arm in comfort, reminding her that she wasn't alone. Clara smiled sweetly.

It was going to be a long journey.

* * *

On the outskirts of London, an important meeting was taking place.

"John, don't be shy. Take a seat." He did so without question; the Dark Lord should not be kept waiting. "Your daughter is a most peculiar girl." Voldemort started. "You say you taught her magic her whole life?" He asked.

"Yes." answered strongly, though he did not feel it. His thoughts were calm and controlled; only one little part of his mind was protected at the moment…

"She is smart, is she?"

"Absolutely," John said, sitting straighter at the proud feeling in his chest. "She is brilliant. Well versed in every important subject. Excels in all."

"Good, then she may be useful to our cause in due time."

The Dark Lord began discussion on another subject then, the Ministry, and John sighed internally. He very much did _not_ like the sound of his only daughter being involved with anything related to the Dark Arts, but that was his fault, wasn't it? He was still drowning in guilt over her dark mark. He had done nothing to stop it, and not because he was a coward, but because he loved his family too much. It was too risky to banter against any of Voldemort's decisions without being suspicious. He couldn't put his family in a situation like that, no matter the consequences. _But now my dear Clara is suffering for it._ He thought with a sad heart.

Yet he did manage one positive thought in all his guilt: He was probably one of very few men to have ever successfully lied to Lord Voldemort.

**What did you think? I wrote this as quickly as I could, so I hope you like it!**

**The deal between Clara and Blaise will get Clara to talk to Draco more, otherwise, it would be pretty quiet with the two of them...**

**For a good part of Hermione/Clara's internal monologue, I'll refer to her as Hermione. Outward appearances and the like will be Clara (most of the time). I just want to show that even though she's "Clara" now, a large part of her still thinks – and sometimes acts – like regular, old Hermione Granger. **

**Also, in this story, her birthday will be the same day (just another connection between Hermione and Clara), but the year of her birth is 1980, just like everybody else. I know J.K Rowling herself said it was '79, but many others have in the past speculated '80, so I've decided on that one. Besides, if it were 1979, then she and Draco would be getting married a whole lot sooner!**

**Anyhow, thanks to all who voted in Blaise's romance poll! I won't say who it is here, just in case there are people who didn't see it – as I know there are – but it'll be obvious by the next chapter, which I hope is out very soon. **

**In the mean time, please review!**


	9. Fantastic New Beginnings

**Disclaimer: I only own the plot and Jemma**

The children entering Professor Slughorn's private compartment sighed at the cold air. Some idiot had launched a warming spell so powerful, it was supplying the entire train with vicious onslaughts of heat that could challenge the sun's temperature.

"Hello, hello! Please, take a seat." The pudgy man in the last train compartment was telling a small gathering of six students. The kids glanced at one another uneasily before finding seats next to people they knew and farthest from those they didn't. Professor Slughorn wore an oblivious smile. "I'm sure all of you are wondering why I called you here." He started once everyone situated themselves accordingly. "I run a little club, the Slug Club, strictly for Hogwart's most promising young students." He winked at everyone then, as if he was sharing a big secret. "You would do well to – oh! _Ho-ho!_ Why hello there!" The compartment looked over to see Ginny Weasley sliding through the door. "Look out boys, this one casts a mean Bat-Bogey." Clara saw Ginny blush as she went to squeeze in next to Harry.

"Now, back to quick business. You only have a few more minutes to endure of me." His chuckles were met with silence. "Yes, well, I haven't been wrong about a student yet, so those of you who enter my group will do well to keep your spot. I have infinite connections with _very_ important people, I might add, which will do lots of good…" Hermione zoned out of Slughorn's speech, something unusual for her, but something was calling her attention. Next to her, Blaise was staring quite oddly at the new arrival, with a strange glint in his eyes. Clara looked at Ginny, who seemed more aware that Harry was sitting next to her then the boy staring at her. Clara nudged her cousin in the rib.

"_Ow!_" He hissed. Clara widened her eyes meaningfully, taking a sharp glance at Ms. Weasley, before turning back to Slughorn.

_Blaise couldn't possibly… No,_ Clara reassured herself. _That's ridiculous._

_

* * *

_

"Pansy, get off me!"

Back in the Slytherin compartment, for the past hour, the inhabitants had been watching as a rather pathetic Pansy Parkinson made rather pathetic attempts at Draco Malfoy's attention. First, she began touching his hair, but her hand had been pushed away with annoyance; it was far too hot to have any kind of contact. Then she tried whining, but Draco was having none of that, and stood up, announcing he had to see about someone on the train. Clara had very urgently jerked her head towards Blaise, reminding him of their deal.

"Why don't I go with you?" Blaise offered.

"No." Draco said shortly, and he was already gone before another word was spoken. The boy had come back a few minutes later in higher spirits.

But when he sat down again, Pansy had not so subtly wriggled her way through his arm and tried to snuggle closely. He hadn't reacted too kindly.

"Fine." She huffed. She crossed her arm and glared dangerously out the window. There were a few minutes of heavy breathing in the cabin as everyone fanned themselves with their meager hands. All of their spells had been overpowered by the strength of the heat hex, and even Clara's magic had minimal effects. Pansy's hard gaze softened in a few minutes, and her mischievous expression told a surreptitious Clara that the girl was scheming.

"So Clara," Pansy said through the silence that had filled the cabin. It hadn't sounded particularly nasty.

"Pansy," Draco warned. Clara's eyes darted to him.

"What?" Parkinson asked innocently. "I just want to talk to someone." Draco kept his eyes suspicious. "So, Clara, tell me, how long have you and Draco known each other?"

Oh, what a scathing question it was. Everyone knew more or less that their marriage was arranged, though not the exact circumstances of that union ship.

"Not very long…" Clara answered carefully. Pansy's smile was filled with malicious intent.

"Oh, so you just gazed deeply into his eyes one night and knew, did you?" Her tone was conversational, but her hard undertone didn't pass anyone.

"I don't see how that's any of your business." Clara replied coldly. Pansy's smile turned into a scowl.

"You listen here you little wench-"

"Pansy, enough!" Draco cut in, a bead of sweat snaking down his face. He had seen Pansy at her nastiest, but not so early in the game. Said girl turned on Draco.

"Why are you defending her? You never told anyone off when they yelled at me! Do you fancy her, Draco? Do you?" The whole compartment, save for Theodore Nott, was leaning in, eager to hear what Draco had to say. Even Clara was slightly inclined. His explosive reply had everyone flying back to their upright positions.

"I said _enough_, Pansy!" His breathing was heavy and his pale face was taking on some striking colors, though probably from the heat. Pansy looked unfazed, but left the topic alone after that.

Unfortunately, Pansy's conniving mind did not rest in that time. Her eyes darted from one person to another, particularly between Clara and Jem, who were talking quietly. Pansy rolled her eyes once before addressing the only other boy she allowed herself to talk to in the cabin.

"So, Blaise, I caught you looking at the Weasley girl earlier, when she walked down the corridor. You hold something for redheads, do you not? Does she… tickle your fancy?" She examined her nails as she said this, as if Blaise was of little interest, but the quick way she snatched glances of Blaise from under her brow told otherwise.

"What the devil are you talking about?" Blaise countered smoothly. Pansy dropped back against the seat and 'hmph-ed,' annoyed that none of her plans of conversation were cooking properly. Clara and Jem, on the other hand, were alerted to the color that had entered his cheeks at the question, and shared a sly glance with each other.

From that point on, the journey was quiet. Pansy, for the most part, refrained from snide comments or questions, and sat glaring at Clara for a greater portion of the ride. Clara and Jem would talk quietly, and once every few minutes Blaise would try to coax Theo into discussion. The heat in the car was only getting worse and worse, but they neither did nor said anything about it. It was some time before Clara looked at her watch and announced Hogwarts would be approaching within the hour.

"_I'll_ go first. I can't stand it in here a moment longer." Pansy declared. She opened the door with a flourish and stepped out, sliding it lazily behind her. Theodore followed closely behind, mumbling something along the lines of "Too bloody hot." With Pansy gone from the compartment, everyone could finally move and relax.

"Finally." Blaise breathed, sliding deeper into his seat. Something white flashed before Clara's eyes as she desperately tried to fan away the amazing heat. She thought she was seeing stars.

"How much worse can this get?" Clara complained faintly, pushing her sleeves up to her armpits, the damp heat making it harder to manage the fabric against her skin. Jem, next to her, did the same. "Why haven't we opened a window yet?" It took Clara a couple of seconds to realize the compartment had gone still.

"Clara," Blaise started quietly. "What is _that_?" Clara had been so caught up in the heat that she forgot the ugly mark engraved on her arm. She gasped.

"Oh my-" She struggled to shove her sleeve back down her sticky arm, but the damage was already done. Draco's face was tight and unreadable, but there was trouble behind his eyes. Clara buried her face in her hands.

"What happened?" Blaise subtly demanded, remarkably gaining control over his wild emotions. He was sitting straight in his seat now. Clara never mentioned that she had been branded as well. He repeated the question to Draco when Clara didn't answer him.

"What the bloody hell do you think happened?" Draco mumbled under his breath. Blaise slumped again.

"Well, excuse me for taking an interest in current affairs." Blaise said, bitterly sarcastic. The cabin fell into silence again. Clara lifted her head from her hands and put one on Blaise's arm.

"It's OK, Blaise." She whispered. Blaise looked at her; she met his gaze.

"_Is_ it OK?" Blaise's question didn't really sound like one, and his gaze was too piercing for Clara to take, so she looked away. Another pair of eyes met hers.

Draco was unconsciously observing Clara. She was so fragile, and her eyes were so soft, that he couldn't help but feel a pang in his chest at watching her disoriented state. Their eyes connected and Clara realized he knew how she felt. He felt the same way, confused and unsure what to expect. This business was a scary one, and both had no way of knowing how it would end. In that moment they shared a thought, a silent communication that they each understood the other's plight. Clara's eyes widened and the gaze held for a moment more before Draco turned and looked out the window.

"It will be." She said quietly, looking out of the window, too. Even though she didn't feel it, and even though she didn't know it, Clara's words were a promise to herself, and, if he'd let her, a promise to Draco.

* * *

"Well, that was a nice, luxurious ride." Blaise said while stretching his long arms and legs. Theodore and Pansy had never returned, so there was a lot more space in the compartment now. Next to him, Clara and Jem were preparing to stand up. Clara glanced over at Draco across from her and saw him staring at the luggage rack. Her heart stopped as she realized what he was looking at.

"After you, ladies." Blaise said with an elegant sweep of his hand. There was no sign of anger on his face anymore – he had gotten over the news quickly.

"Er, you go on without me. I have to get something from my trunk." Clara said. Blaise glanced at Draco before shrugging his shoulders and walking out after Jem. Draco looked at Clara when they were alone.

Clara had only just remembered the odd flashing in front of her eyes just before she had revealed the mark on her inner forearm. Her mind whispered the truth of what that had been. _Harry…_ Who was the one with a means of turning themselves invisible? Who was the one stupid enough to actually enter the Slytherin compartment in hopes of getting information? His name filled her thoughts in absolute certainty. Harry Potter was on top of the luggage rack, and Draco was waiting for him.

"Just get what you need and leave." Draco growled.

"Why are you in such a hurry to get me out of here?" Clara snapped. He didn't answer her. She gripped the handle and swung the trunk. She moved it in a way that it consumed the entire rack – and would hit any unknown beings hiding there.

She sighed in relief when the trunk came down without any problems. She clicked it open, fishing around for good measure, before extracting a small candy dispenser. It was trivial, but served its purpose.

"_That's _what you needed?" Draco scoffed. He seemed annoyed.

"Yes, what does it matter to you?" She answered stoically. Draco's face darkened. Walking smoothly and without hesitation, Clara made her way out of the train and down the path towards the Thestral drawn carriages.

* * *

Clara couldn't have been more discontented with the situation. Next to her, so arrogantly speaking to all his "royal subjects" was Draco, divulging his onlookers in a very crafty story about something another that she didn't care to pay any attention to. She wished Jem was nearby to talk to, but alas, she was three people away, next to Blaise, so Clara was left to her own devices. None of which were any good, mind you. The best thing she could do was take frequent surreptitious glances across the room, at the Gryffindor table, and hope to spot someone she knew - or once knew anyway. She had just noticed Seamus Finnigan making rather crude faces at Pavarti Patil when the doors to the Great Hall opened and a nervous energy seemed to set into the atmosphere. Students began standing up from their seats to get a better look at this new comer. Whoever he was, Clara noticed, he was making a bloody mess.

Actually, it _was_ a bloody mess. Red splotches marred the floor after him, all the way to his spot at the Gryffindor table. Next to Ronald Weasley. Clara's stomach plummeted. She looked over at Draco, sitting to her immediate right, and the fellow students slapping him on the back in congratulations. Her mouth dropped in disbelief and anger. Blaise, the traitor, was encouraging Draco, laughing at his dumb imitation of a broken nose with the rest of the lousy lot. Clara opened her mouth to say something truly nasty when the room went quiet and every set of eyes in the hall looked up to the podium. Dumbledore was beginning his welcome speech.

Clara turned her eyes to the venerable figure reluctantly.

"Good evening everyone." The old man said with a warm smile on his face. "Welcome, to those of you who are just arriving to Hogwarts, and welcome back to everyone else!" The hall erupted into vivacious applaud for the beginning of the new term. Clara could not find it in her to cheer with them. The merriment died down at the headmaster's hand.

"Before we begin our feast, there are a few announcements I must make..." Dumbledore began. Clara was still fuming, but listening intently, until a movement to her right caught her attention.

Draco, in all his audacity, was bored. The old dragon had nothing to tell him that he hadn't already heard every welcoming feast of his life. However, despite the similar feelings he shared with all of his school mates, they all sat diligently, paying apt attention to Dumbledore's every word. So Draco did what any other man his age would do in any similar situation: He practiced his magic.

Clara's eyes knit together in frustration as Draco levitated his spoon in the air. He was in his own little world, completely engulfed in his trick. Anger boiled in Clara's veins. _First_, he bloodies Harry up, and next, he won't even acknowledge the headmaster's presence! Well, this was simply…

Clara raised her hand and with a _slam _that resonated around the room's silence, she brought the spoon down hard against the table's wooden surface. All her anger and pent up hostility went into the motion so that it seemed to break a sound barrier in the castle. Several heads in the room whipped around just in time to witness Clara Claret turning away from her soon-to-be, and Draco Malfoy glaring daggers at the back of her pretty little head. Dumbledore continued without the hint of having noticed any of the interaction. Clara smiled contentedly, feeling very happy and very relieved to have gotten that out of her system.

She didn't yet know what she would have to answer to later.

* * *

After plates had been cleared and the food devoured, Dumbledore bid everyone goodnight and blissful dreams. The Head Boy and Girl of Slytherin – two grimy looking seventh years – took no time in calling all the prefects to order. Draco got up and walked over without so much as a glance at Clara – not that she expected him to. Besides, she was still furious about the "Harry incident."

"C'mon Clara. We'll show you to the common room." Jem said behind her. Blaise was there, too.

_How could I have missed him?_ Clara pounded herself with on their way to the Slytherin common room. She should have been paying more attention to her surroundings, but the girl was too upset about Harry. He must have been right there, _right in front of her, _but she had somehow missed it, and he had gotten his nose stamped on by Draco Malfoy.

The exit from the Great Hall was jammed, what with all the students rushing out at once. As one of the last few Slytherins to leave, Blaise, Jemma, and Clara ended up right next to three particularly ruffled Gryffindors.

"Ron, you idiot!" Clara, who was closest to the trio, heard Ginny's remark. "How did you even manage a spell that powerful on the train? Just think of what Hermione will say when I-" A wave in the crowd pushed Clara sideways, right into Ginny's shoulder. Clara flinched. Ginny vehemently turned her head to face the culprit. The red head's eyes hardened.

"Watch where you're going, Malfoy." She spat at a stunned Clara. Behind her, Jemma took her arm and pulled her away, towards the dungeons. Jem looked at her cousin sympathetically.

"What was that all about?" Jem asked.

"I don't know." Clara answered honestly, still in shock. "I just accidentally bumped into her, and – and she called me a Malfoy." That, more than anything else, shook Clara. Was she already labeled a Malfoy without being married to him? Was that how she was to be treated?

"It'll be alright, Clara. We're here for you." Jem consoled and Clara had to smile. It was moments of friendship like this when Clara could tolerate her life as it was. For that, she thanked Jem.

Their walk to the dungeons ended in front of the stone wall door, which opened at the word "Stonehenge." The scene they were met with was a curious one.

"Listen Crabbe, I doubt your father would have any problem with this." Draco spat. There were three figures in the empty common room: Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, huddled amongst each other. It looked like Draco was bullying them into something. "You either, Goyle." Draco spat. The door to the common room slammed shut and the three whipped around to see who entered. Draco's face hardened.

"Remember what I told you." Draco said to Crabbe and Goyle before stalking away to the boys dormitory.

_I wonder what that was all about._ Hermione wondered. _Draco wouldn't actually be stupid enough to go to _them _for help, would he?_ She continued to think as she gazed on at a sheepish Crabbe and Goyle. They hurried from the room so as not to be questioned.

"That was…" Jem started.

"Odd." Blaise finished for her. The girls nodded. Blaise yawned. "Well, the only thing left to do now is go to bed, I suppose. Good night ladies." He bowed in mock courtesy and made for his dormitory. "Oh, and Jem? Do try to keep your snoring down. For the other ladies."

"_Blaise_!"

* * *

Clara could not make sleep come to her. The gnawing reminder that Draco was up to something secretive kept her awake and wondering what he could be doing. It didn't help that every enemy she'd ever had were within spitting distance of where she _slept_. Crabbe and Goyle? What was he going on about? And what wouldn't Crabbe's father, a renowned Death Eater, have any problem with? Nothing made sense at the moment and her attempts at sane reasoning were fruitless at this time of night. She turned over, frustrated.

Clara was not very accustomed to not knowing the answer to serious questions, and this matter was no objection.

* * *

Draco Malfoy's mind would not stop winding. He brought his hand to his face and ran it through his hair. _Do you fancy her, Draco? Do you?_ Pansy's words rung clearly in his head, forcing him to think about his feelings, a subject no proper man wanted to think about.

Whatever Draco was feeling for Clara, it wasn't hate. In fact, he was sure it wasn't dislike, either. The golden hazel of her wide eyes was captivating and made it hard for anyone to think ill of her. He was trying so desperately to think of her as Granger, but with every passing day, and with every time he saw her, that task became harder and harder to manage. He had to stay bitter and nasty in attitude to avoid falling against those heavenly spheres and succumbing to every meager whim of hers, which he felt in his blood would happen if he let his guard down. He sighed uncharacteristically and shifted loudly.

The problems of a young man in distant love.

* * *

**So we finally see the extent of Draco's feelings, though it doesn't seem that he knows them himself…**

**I want to give a big THANK YOU to all of my reviewers; I really couldn't have done it without you.**

**I don't know when the next chapter is going to be up, but I'll try my best to update within the next two weeks.**

**Tell me what you thought! **


	10. A Different Kind of Beginning

The sunlight streamed through the window of the girls dormitory and onto the grumpy face of our dear Clara Claret. Her sleep had been clouded with thoughts of Draco and what his plans were for this year. She was feeling miserable about what this year would bring.

But besides the negatives, it was the beginning of classes, so she needed to wake up and get ready. This took no time at all, since Clara did not have to fuss too much to make her new self look presentable, and within minutes the first girls were moving in their sleep and releasing those first morning yawns. _They get up much earlier than the Gryffindors_. Clara couldn't help comparing. She noticed Pansy hadn't moved. She went downstairs before the spiteful girl could.

The common room, an indescribable combination of green and silver, was littered with a few wakeful students who sat alone and in groups of three at various tables around the room. No one looked up when she entered. Not even Blaise, who was reading a large volume in his quiet corner.

"You're up early." Clara said as she approached him. He jumped out of his book.

"Bloody hell! What are you trying to do?" Blaise hissed. Clara cracked a small smile.

"What are you reading?" She asked instead of answering his question. Blaise sighed.

"I dunno, it's about a bloke who travels the world in search of some rare equestrian breed or something another." He closed the book and turned to Clara, who was now occupying the seat to his left.

"How're things coming along?" He asked amiably. She knew what he meant.

"Nothing has happened yet. The last thing he threw at me was a complaint." She told him blithely, talking about Draco. Blaise flinched.

"Well, just try and keep an open mind about it." He advised. Clara 'hmphed' and the conversation ended. It was just in time that it did, too, because a large male came bounding down the stairs. John Brody, cocky seventh year extraordinare, scanned the common room. He spotted Blaise, a friendly acquaintance, and most importantly the pretty new sixth year next to him.

"Blaise, how are you?" John asked as he walked over to the two in the corner. He didn't give the younger student any time to answer. "Oh, hello, who are you and why haven't I ever met you before?" Brody took Clara's hand and made to kiss it.

"Erm, I'm Clara Claret." She answered, a little unsure of this new fellow. She wasn't sure how many arrogant people she could deal with, and this boy clearly was.

"What a lovely name." He said.

"What'd you come over here for, Brody?" Blaise interrupted, looking impatient.

"Why to say hello to a good friend and introduce myself to our new student." He spoke smoothly, his voice like melted chocolate, Hermione thought, though it had an opposite effect on her. "Unfortunately, I must get going, but I hope to be seeing you again, Ms. Claret." He smiled, a charm that was his trademark, and walked away.

"What a pity." Blaise said sarcastically from beside Clara. When she asked him why he didn't seem to like Brody, Blaise mumbled something about him always getting the "datable Slytherin girls."

Clara couldn't help but smile at the way it reminded her of someone she used to know.

* * *

Clara was completely prepared for Potions exactly one minute before class began. Students were chattering excitedly around her, informing each other on events of the summer and what not. Jemma was not taking this class and Blaise was sitting next to Draco at the next table, so there was no one, really, to talk to. Unless she ventured over to the Gryffindors at the table over, but she knew how those things ended. She rearranged a quill in front of her.

"Harry, don't be ridiculous." Clara's ears perked at the sound of that voice. She would recognize it anywhere.

"I know what I saw Ron. I'm telling you, it's happened." The conversation was cut off from Clara as Professor Slughorn walked into the room.

"Alright class; put your stuff away for now. For the first part of our class we will be discussing various potions. Gather 'round." The class got up to stand around the professor's desk, where three cauldrons were set up.

"Now, can anyone tell me what this potion is?" Slughorn asked the class, referring to the first black pot, which was overflowing with a blue mist. Clara's hand shot up in the air of its own accord.

"Ms. Claret." He spotted happily.

" Veritaserum, sir." From behind her, Harry and Ron looked at one another.

It was strange, to say the least, that Hermione Granger was not there to claim her title as know-it-all. But to have the new girl – and a Slytherin, too – retake that position so quickly, well, it was a little unnerving. Several others noticed this behavior and were suddenly struck with the realization that Granger was not there.

"Very good. Ten points to Slytherin." Two boys in the back clapped hands. "What about this one? Ms. Claret."

"That's Polyjuice Potion."

"Well done. Another Ten points to Slytherin." He rewarded again. "And finally, ah, Ms. Claret seems to already have the answer to this, also."

"Amortentia, professor. It's the most powerful love potion in existence." Clara approached the kettle as if drawn to its contents. "To every person, the smell of their true love is different." Clara now seemed in a distant place, fancying distant ideas, perhaps. "For instance, I smell old wood… spearmint toothpaste and new robes…" Clara's cheeks warmed as she came out of her reverie. She had been a little too caught up in the potion.

"Good, good. Now, everyone listen up, because I have a little contest for you all…" The class listened intently as Slughorn described the potion they had to make in exchange for the Liquid Luck given to the person who brewed it best. The prize would give the winner luck for an unmentioned amount of time.

"You have one hour. Get to it!" On his mark, the class raced to their stations.

For the next hour, Clara diligently followed the instructions in her text book. She hardly noticed the outside world – or the rest of the classroom's progress – while she performed each small task one after another. Cut the beetles… stir this way, stir that way… should turn "clear as water." Draught of the Living Dead really was a little complicated when you got right down to it, but Clara was just stirring counterclockwise for the last cycle when Slughorn called time.

"Instruments down!" The professor sidled up to Harry straight away. It was obvious he had been done for a while.

"A perfect brew!" Slughorn appraised after he had tested it. Harry beamed. "I think it's obvious who the winner is."

_How did he do that?_ Hermione wondered. Potions had never been his forte. In fact, he had barely passed with an Exceeds Expectations last year, so how did he so quickly acquire this new talent for Potions? Hermione pondered this as Harry accepted his award. Still thinking, she slowly packed her belongings and exited the room last. An arm around her shoulder surprised Clara.

"Cheer up love." Blaise told her. Only she, him and Draco (who didn't look at her) were in the corridor. "You can't be good at everything." She glared daggers at him.

"I assure you, I_ am_." She told him angrily. She broke away from him and stomped down the hall. Blaise turned to Draco.

"You reckon there's more Slytherin in her than we thought?"

* * *

By dinner that night Clara was feeling tired. She had wondered about Harry's performance the whole day. To say the least, it was bothering her. Yes, she still outperformed her classmates in every class when she wasn't delved in deep thought, but it could only distract her so much. Had her transformation something to do with why she had been beaten by Harry, of all people? Not that she thought him stupid; Harry was very smart, it was just unlikely that he ever best _Hermione_ at something academic. But, of course, she wasn't Hermione anymore….

But that was utterly ridiculous! Clara still _felt_ like Hermione, and _thought_ like Hermione. No, it was something else. But what?

"Clara, what's bothering you?" Jem asked her cousin. They were among the first to arrive at the Great Hall which was progressively filling up with students. Clara had stayed very quiet on their way down to supper, and Jemma noticed.

"You've hardly said a word." Jem said.

"It's nothing. Really. I'm just… getting used to everything is all." Clara reassured. She decided it did no good to sulk over her misgivings, so turned her full attention to a conversation with Jem. Halfway through it, Blaise appeared with Draco.

"'Lo ladies. How are we this fine evening?" He asked with gentlemanly flourish. Draco left a space between him and Clara when he sat down. Clara ignored him. After a talk with her cousins and an apology to Blaise for her attitude earlier – which he accepted with_ un_gentlemanly flourish – the mouth-watering meal began and everyone dug in.

In the middle of a yummy pot roast that was quelling Clara's low feelings (not that she ate her emotions), Draco discreetly stood up and headed toward the exit. Blaise, ever the acute best mate, narrowed his eyes at Draco's back suspiciously and turned his gaze to an oblivious, un-caring Clara.

"Clara." He called. She resurfaced. She followed his gaze to Draco's retreating figure in front of the Great Hall doors. Blaise looked at her imploringly. She pouted. His face took on a stern appearance. Clara huffed loudly.

"Save me something." She asked of him before throwing her napkin onto the table and getting out of her spot to follow her fickle fiancée. She made care to swipe her low heels against Blaise's arm for interrupting her meal as she swung them over the bench.

A few people took notice of both Draco and Clara's departure, but only one took any action. He rose out of his seat two tables away, not bothering to excuse himself, and quietly exited the dining room a few minutes after Ms. Claret.

Silence engulfed the room Clara was in as soon as she closed the door. On top of the stairs she could see Draco turning a corner and disappearing from sight. She hurried over to the stairs.

_Clack. Clack. Clack._

Curse her heels! They were small, sure, but their sound echoed around the hall in the loudest way. She froze, but went on again when nothing happened.

Her venture up the marble stairs was quieter now, and continued without any problems. When she got to the top, the floor was dressed with carpet, so now she only had to worry about a heel getting caught in the plush expanse beneath her feet. Draco's back could be seen turning another corner. She crept further on.

She moved quite stealthily, ducking behind all the right pillars at all the right times. _What could he be doing?_ Clara wondered. _It probably has something to do with his mission._ She realized. He looked around himself a lot – probably looking for followers like Clara – but never found any. She crept even closer to him, completely ahead of herself, and managed to trip when her stupid heel caught onto the stupid carpet.

_Thud._

Clara grabbed herself just before she headed straight to the floor, but it was too late; Draco had heard her foot against the floor. He turned around wildly, looking for the culprit, and found her leaning against an ancient wooden desk. His eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I knew someone was following me." He said under his breath. "What are you doing?" He demanded quickly. Clara drew herself up.

"What am _I_ doing? What are _you_ doing, leaving in the middle of the feast!"

"That's none of your business."

"Actually, it _is_." Clara enunciated for him.

"Well, _this_ isn't." He snapped. Clara was quiet.

"Draco," She tried softly this time. "What are you doing with Crabbe and Goyle?"

"That's none of your business either!" He argued. "Go back to the feast."

"Draco, you have to tell me what you're doing!"

"Actually, I_ don't_." With that he turned his back. "And don't try following me again." He warned over his shoulder. Clara watched him until he turned another corner, this time at the far end of the long hallway. From here, it made no sense where he was going.

_What are you planning, Draco Malfoy?_

_

* * *

_

**Gee, Draco is **_**really**_** determined to conduct his task on his own. Tsk, tsk. **

**Now, there are a few question answers I have decided to post here, just in case. I may start answering certain questions here now, if nobody minds. **

**To reina13, who I already answered but which I have decided to post here: Yes, Harry and Co. WILL eventually find out Hermione's "secret." Though, honestly, it won't be for a while. Obviously, Harry and Ron will notice strange correlations between Clara and Hermione, like in this chapter, but I can't tell you when or how it will happen otherwise, because it would ruin the story! **

**Now, to tinawinna: I'm not sure if I ever thoroughly answered some of your questions, but I'll do so here to clear up any confusion some people may have. Yes, Jemma is my own creation. I thought Clara was going to need someone to talk to, for obvious reasons, and a family member who knew her problems was the best way to go. She'll gain more of a presence in due time! **

**So, Hermione/Clara's birthday is coming up! (Both in the real world and in this one) I admit that I never actually planned a chapter for her birthday, which will probably the next one. That means it'll probably be a shorter one. However, that doesn't mean it won't be exciting. **

**Anyway, that's all I have for now. Be back soon! **


	11. Birthday Grievances

Seventeen days after her nasty meeting with Draco, Clara awoke from a blissful slumber, stretching like a cat does when coming out of a deep sleep. As if he knew what day it was, "Crooks," the new name given to Crookshanks, jumped onto her bed and nuzzled his new pink nose into her face. Much like Hermione, Crookshanks had needed a new makeover to go with his owners. Instead of the fluffy, orange, smush-faced cat seen previously, Crooks was blonde and sleek, and a lot livelier looking than before.

A sharp ray of light reflecting off of a shiny object caught her face. She shielded her eyes with one hand and pulled herself up in bed with the other. Why was her curtain pulled back?

"Happy birthday Clara!" Jemma greeted. Clara smiled brilliantly. So her birthday wasn't forgotten!

"Oh, thank you Jem!" She got up to hug the girl tightly and then looked down at all the gifts at the foot of her bed. "Are these all mine?"

Jem laughed. "Yeah, and they're only from the family! Wait 'till you go downstairs!"

"Wait… what time is it?" Clara asked hesitantly. No one was in the dormitory.

"About seven thirty."

Clara's stomach dropped. She had slept in. Her. Of all people.

"_What?_" She raced to her trunk, grabbing the robes resting on top and hurried to put them on.

"Clara! Breakfast doesn't even start for another fifteen minutes!" Jem tried to reason.

"I _never _get up late! How did this happen?"

"Well, I thought you might like to sleep in a little on your birthday so I charmed your sleep…" Jem admitted sheepishly. Clara smiled from her perch on the floor.

"Thanks for the thought, Jem. It's really sweet of you." Clara told her cousin nicely. It felt nice to have a friend like Jem do these small things for you.

Once Clara was dressed, the two hurried downstairs and to the Great Hall for breakfast, which they were only slightly late for. That was nothing, though, compared to the uproar that greeted them when they approached the Slytherin table.

"Happy birthday Clara!" A group of people told her at once. The crowd was civilized, but still overwhelming. She looked around wildly at all the gifts being shoved under her nose.

In the past two weeks, Clara had become something of a starlet amongst her Slytherin classmates. More to the boys, however. The girls, especially ones who traveled with Pansy, despised Clara and her good looks. And again, the resentment mainly emanated from the fifth, sixth, and seventh year ladies. Clara did not particularly enjoy the fact that every girl felt this way towards her, or that every male within shouting distance of her decided to pick up a conversation. This meant many drafty nights in the library, versus the cozy comfort of a warm common room. Men do tend to love what they can't have.

"Er, thank you. Yes, thank you so much. Oh yes, of course." Clara accepted gift after gift, until she couldn't hold them any longer. She dragged herself over to her reserved spot in the middle of the attention seeking Slytherins and dropped her gifts on the wooden table. Not two seconds had passed before the gifts suddenly disappeared from sight.

"What happened?" Clara asked urgently. They were completely gone from the table, nowhere to be seen.

"They're in your room." Jem, always by her side, told her. "I alerted the house elves." She gave a knowing smile as Clara's shoulders sagged. Thank goodness for a friend like Jemma.

After that morning extravaganza, the day passed like any other day. In passing almost every Slytherin school mate had something to tell her. John Brody had a few smooth things to stay, all of which Clara took politely. His predictability was always laughable.

The only bad feeling she had out of the entire day occurred as everyone made their way to the Great Hall for lunch. She was chatting happily with Jemma about something she studied in Potions (a class, you may recall, that Jemma did not sign up for) when they came to a corner to turn at. Just on the other side happened to be Harry, Ron and Ginny, speaking in hushed tones, oddly enough. Clara stopped moving and talking, staring at them with wide eyes, a pain in her stomach. The trio realized other life in the corridor and looked up, expressions changing so quickly, Clara thought she might have imagined it.

Ginny's soft features took on a harsh glare, one reserved for her most bitter enemies. Clara had figured the hate came from her relationship with Draco, and what he had done to Harry on the evening of arriving. Ron looked uneasy, as if unsure what he should do with his sister so scary looking. Though Clara was sure he would make his decision soon enough, especially now that Clara was so favorable in the Slytherin House.

Harry was the only one she couldn't read. He was staring hard at her, like he was trying to solve some complex arithmetic problem. Clara stared back at him curiously. Was Harry undecided?

"C'mon Clara, we don't want to be late." Jemma urged her after a few seconds. Clara couldn't help looking back a few times at Harry, to make sure she was seeing what she was seeing. His expression remained unchanged.

For a time after that, all she could think about was Harry. He knew she had the Dark Mark – he was in the cabin on the Hogwarts Express, he had to have seen it on her arm. He knew she was engaged to Draco Malfoy – the entire wizarding world (and possibly bits of the muggle one) knew. Also, he knew it was her birthday. Something she shared with Hermione, which might be strange. And she was a new student, something Hogwarts almost never got.

In any event, she was back to the comfort of excelling in class, except Potions, of course. Studying was an easy way out of her worry, a way to forget about her future. So she delved straight into it, leaving no survivors.

Dinner went on as usual, too. Draco didn't say a word to her, Blaise joked around, and Jemma talked with her the whole time. Jemma had gained somewhat of an acknowledgment around the Slytherin common room, what with being Clara's constant companion. Deep down the lonely girl knew her popular cousin was to blame, but accepted it anyway. She was aware that Clara didn't much like the attention either.

But that evening, back at Slytherin headquarters and after Clara had opened all her gifts and read all her warm birthday greetings, Clara crept downstairs alone, scanning the common room incognito. Only two people were in the room – on the couches. And it looked to be the only two people who hadn't wished her a happy birthday all day long. She hurried to them.

"Good evening, boys." She greeted Draco and Theodore.

"Good evening, Ms. Claret." Theo said while Draco said nothing. "I didn't quite get a chance to congratulate you on your sixteen years." He smirked slightly.

Clara smiled. "That's every kind of you, Mr. Nott."

"Please, call me Theo."

"Call me Clara." She responded. The conversation flowed gently after that between the two. They talked about nothing of importance, school mostly, and Theo inquired of Jemma once.

"Jemma is your cousin, yes?"

"Yes, she is." Said Clara.

"Is she well?" He asked off-handedly.

"I think so. Sometimes it's hard to tell." Clara told him truthfully. She had not realized until that moment how sad Jemma looked at times.

"Hm. How did you find the spell we performed in Defense Against the Dark Arts yesterday?" And that was it, Jemma seemingly gone from his thoughts.

A short while passed and Theo stood up.

"Well, I hope you have had a good day, Clara, but I must get to bed. I shall see you at breakfast, most likely. Draco." With a nod at the silent remainder, Theo headed to the boys dormitory. A restless silence fell over the room.

"Er, I guess I'll be off to bed then." She was two inches off the sofa when Draco stopped her.

"Clara." She dropped back down. "Here." He fished around in his pocket without looking at her and came up with a slim, deep burgundy box. He thrust it into her hand. "Happy birthday." He mumbled. She stared at it for a moment, completely caught off guard by the abruptness of this gift giving, but opened it nonetheless.

A pretty antique bracelet rested inside. There were thin silver chains that linked small green diamonds together. The silver matched the color of her wedding ring.

"Draco, this is…" Clara trailed off, at a loss for words.

"A matching set, yes." He finished for her. "Hope you like it." He mumbled before he rose quickly from the couch and up the stairs. Clara stared after him, dumbfounded.

Why was he so distant? And here she thought he was going to complement her, but perhaps that was asking too much… Still, the bracelet was lovely, despite its Slytherin-esque hue. She undid the clasp and snapped it onto her small wrist. It melded perfectly with her ring, a permanent item she looked at only so often. Both pieces glittered in the light, each green acquainting itself with the other, like long lost sisters meeting for the first time. Clara smiled ever so slightly.

The common room was silent, save for the jingling of her diamond bracelet. It's funny how fast these nice moments get broken up, though. Crabbe and Goyle were just coming from the Great Hall, enjoying sweets they had no doubt snuck out of the kitchens. Clara got a sudden idea.

"Hello Crabbe, Goyle." She greeted politely. They stopped mid-motion.

"'Ello… Claret." Crabbe said through a mouth-full of something chocolaty. She smiled.

"Call me Clara."

"Alright… Yeah, OK." Goyle said, unsure at first, but quickly warm to the idea. Crabbe seemed on the same boat.

"Could you boys, er, help me with something?" She asked sweetly. They nodded enthusiastically. "You see, I haven't really spoken to Draco in a while, and I was wondering if you could… tell me how he is."

They scratched their heads thoughtfully for a moment. "Yeah, he's alright, I 'spose." Crabbe informed.

"And what do you think about the… task he's given you." Their expressions became uneasy.

"W-well, maybe you should talk to Draco about this. I could go get him, if you like." Goyle said.

"No, no. That's fine." She said quickly. "I only wanted to help you…" She looked away shyly, praying that her silly antics wouldn't be in vain.

"Well… I mean, it could be better." Crabbe said.

"Like how?" asked Clara.

"Like sneaking into that room on the seventh floor." Goyle responded eagerly. "Oh, what's it called…"

"The Room of Requirement." Clara said automatically. The large boy smiled.

"Yeah, that one. We have to go in there and stand by that silly cabinet with him."

"Really…" Clara said, immediately lost in thought. A cabinet? Like the vanishing one at Borgin and Burkes?

"How many times have you done this so far?" This time it was harder to conceal her excitement.

"Uh… maybe… how long has it been?" Goyle asked his friend.

"Two times." Crabbe answered Clara. She nodded and stood.

"Thank you both so much for your help." Clara gave them a sweet smile. "I'll be sure to keep it in mind. In the meantime, try to keep this conversation between us, yeah?" She headed towards the girls dormitory.

"Er, yeah… sure." Crabbe said.

"Happy birthday, Clara!" Goyle yelled. Crabbe smacked him across the head in embarrassment.

Clara would stay up for a few more minutes, pondering the new information before drifting off into a blissful slumber. Sweet dreams of her defeating – er, _advancing_ – Harry in Potions kept her content in sleep.

And much like the wedding ring, her new bracelet would become quite a common sight on young Clara Claret's tiny wrist.

* * *

**What did everyone think? **

**Now, to answer more questions…**

**anangelwithnoname: The person who followed Clara will be revealed soon enough. In the mean time, any guesses? **

**aridnie: Yes, Hermione **_**does**_** know that Draco has to kill Dumbledore. She's just trying to figure how he's going to do it. To add to that, the only person at Hogwarts who knows what he has to do is Clara, so Blaise doesn't, but he can see that something is bothering Draco. I like to think that Clara and Draco have a special kind of bond and relationship because they are both going through similar problems, though Draco's are little tougher than Clara's. **

**OK, so I've been saying this for a while now, but I really don't know when the next chapter is going to come out. School has started (blech) and is kind of stressful, but I'll keep writing! So maybe not that long. **

**Until the next chapter! **


	12. It Was Nothing

_Three months really flies by. _Hermione thought as she lounged against one of the green sofas in the Slytherin common room on a Saturday morning. It was the weekend before everyone would head back to their homes for the holidays and also the day of their very first Hogsmeade trip. The room was crowded with excited teenagers eager to make it out of the castle as soon as possible. Next to Clara was Jemma, observing the room curiously, as Blaise reclined on the other side of the small coffee table between sofas. Draco was seated next to him, arms crossed with his characteristic expressionless face donning his features.

The past few months had resulted in little communication between Clara and Draco. The only lead she had was the one from Crabbe and Goyle, and that had put her at a dead end. Her "Hermione" mind, however, had of course come up with a few theories, none of which could possibly be tested. Draco carefully avoided her, and they were hardly ever in the same room together, besides classes. Today was one of the few, and it didn't really count because the room was full.

The other Slytherins tended to give upper class men their privacy, as was the case with the small group Clara sat with. Though there was no other comfy place to sit in the room, they knew their place and said nothing. These four were also the only upperclassmen in the dorm.

"What bloody time is it?" Blaise asked irritably, lifting his head as if it were a great effort. He had awoken in a sour mood. Possibly because he was escorting his sister to Hogsmeade while his best mate had a date, arranged marriage or not.

"Almost time to set out." Clara answered dutifully. He dropped his head back against the cushion.

It wasn't too long before the kids were fetched and brought down by the Head Boy and Girl. They wandered in a big group, divided into unclear pairs and accompanied by dates and friends alike. Clara was nowhere near Draco, as far as the eye could see, and chatted with Jemma for the small trip downstairs. Blaise was talking to Theodore Nott, who was accompanying Pansy Parkinson, as luck would have it for him.

They all lined up on the small dirt road that would bring carriages and gathered in their groups respectively. Clara, Jemma, and Blaise clustered together. Across the way, Theo, Pansy, Millicent and two other Slytherins were close together.

"Where's Draco?" Clara asked. He had just been with them, right?

"I dunno. I thought he was off sulking by himself again." Blaise responded. Jemma shrugged.

_That means he's gone off again_. Hermione thought. He did this often, disappearing mysteriously, and normally not to be heard from until much later… But for Hogsmeade? And why wouldn't he tell anyone? _Probably so I wouldn't follow him._ She noticed Crabbe and Goyle were nowhere to be seen.

The first Thestral drawn carriage arrived to pick them up. All the small groups began the ascent into the compartment without hesitation. With one last look around, Clara climbed into the carriage, disappointment seeping through the cracks of the tight façade she had managed to create whenever feelings regarding Draco emerged inside her. It was done unconsciously, but this time it didn't seem enough.

At the other end of the short journey, they got out and were greeted by the small town bustling with Hogwarts students who had already arrived. Clara turned to Jemma.

"Where do you want to go first? There are three dress shops in Hogsmeade, and we really need dresses for Slughorn's Christmas party…"

"Mm… Let's go to that one." Jem pointed to a sparkly sign, _Pins and Needles_. The girls, along with a reluctant Blaise, walked over.

Fifteen minutes later, the girls were in their own cubicles, changing into evening gowns. Blaise was on a stool in the corner, there for a male opinion in the ladies selections. He couldn't have been any more miserable.

"Are you ready?" Jemma called from her cubicle.

"Yeah." Clara responded. They stepped out.

Jemma looked quite pretty in a pastel blue off the shoulder gown. She twirled around once.

"What do you think?" Jemma asked.

"Oh, it looks lovely on you, Jem, but don't you think it's, er, a little out of the Christmas spirit?" Jem pouted slightly at her cousin's words.

"I suppose you're right. Maybe I'll just get it anyway… Blaise, what do you think?" At the sound of his name, Blaise brought his attention from the ceiling to the two family members in front of him.

"Hm, what?" Jem rolled her eyes.

"What do you think of my dress?" She demanded. His urgent expression shifted to a one of bored infatuation.

"Beautiful. You should get it." His sister huffed at his blithe enthusiasm. She looked at Clara's gown.

"That looks wonderful, Clara!" The long strapless gown was deep blue, and tiered till above her skinny ankles.

"I suppose. But it's a little impractical and plain. I think there're other places to find dresses. Shall we go?" Her friend nodded and went back into privacy to take off her dress. Clara did the same, and soon the three were in the streets again, heading to the next store, but with a bag in Jemma's bag.

"I think mother will really like the dress I bought." She said more to herself than her companions.

"Where are you even going to wear that dress, if not to Slughorn's party?" Blaise asked her.

"Oh, there's always _somewhere_ to go." Jem answered, unfazed by his underhanded reprimand.

The girls took the lead in making it to the other dress shop, on the other side of the village. They talked non-stop, as most ladies do, and paid hardly any attention to Blaise, who seemed heartily distracted by his own thoughts. He half-heartedly followed behind them, and more than once the girls told him to hurry up, or else they might have to leave him all alone. He considered the idea.

Just off a fork in the road, a short, bushy tree stood in the light breeze that swayed its leaves softly. The area was less crowded and the stores less visited. Clara and Jemma glided through the thin blanket of snow on the ground, their hair billowing quietly around them. Their fluffy coats guarded them well against the chill of an early December. Clara stopped under the tree to consult on which way they should go.

"Two different stores are in two different directions. Which way do you want to go?"

"I dunno. Blaise, what do you-" Jem began. "Blaise?" She asked the wind. Blaise was no longer behind them and nowhere in sight.

"Where did he go?" Clara asked. Jem shrugged her shoulders.

"We're better off without him. He was no help anyway." The girls' giggles could be heard long after they had gone.

* * *

Just above the spot Clara and Jemma had so fleetingly occupied, Blaise was standing on a branch, hands holding on to smaller limbs above his head for support. Wisps of white air disappeared as he exhaled in relief. He admitted that his actions were rather childish; climbing a tree to escape the evil clutches of gown shopping was surely not the easiest way to go about ditching his close relatives, but what could he say? A man had to do what a man had to do. Especially where women's clothing was involved. He relaxed his body and leaned against a thick branch.

It wasn't too long before someone interrupted his peace.

"Ginny!" The voice called. The boy was distant, like he had just come out of one of the shops. There was a quick pitter patter of feet nearby and Blaise turned his head carefully to see a stormy-eyed red head slip behind the very tree he happened to be hiding in.

"Ginny? _Ginny!_" Blaise turned back to watch the "other" boy storm off frustrated in the other direction. Below, Ginny was angry.

"The _nerve_ of him! 'What were you doing with Seamus Finnigan…' What kind of girl does he think I am?"

Blaise couldn't help but smirk at the situation. Here was this _Gryffindor_, unknowingly pouring her heart out to the ears of a Slytherin. He debated on waiting to hear more or dropping in on her. He stopped thinking when he heard a sniff.

"No, I won't get upset over a prat like him…" She muttered to herself. She was in a slump on the ground now. Blaise made his decision.

"Trouble in Paradise?" He asked her smartly as he swung down from his tall perch in the tree, landing gracefully on his feet. Ginny squeaked in shock and straightened. "Oh, excuse me, did I frighten you?"

"What are you doing here?" She tried to ask nastily, but found difficult to do in light of her surprise. She drew her wand.

"Hiding from your lover boy?" He asked, completely disregarding her question and unfazed by her weapon.

"What's it to you?" Her tears were gone now.

"Poor lad, really." He said, again not answering her question. "He looked so pitiful."

"Stuff it all, Zabini." Ginny spat cruelly. Blaise smirked at her attitude.

"Put your wand away, Weaslette. I'm not going to attack you."

"What do you want from me?" She demanded.

"Only your pleasant conversation." He smiled brilliantly.

"I didn't know Slytherin's were capable of the sort."

"Only in the right company." He finished, eyes dancing. Ginny sat still for a moment, seeming to ponder something in the inner chambers of her mind. Slowly, she lowered her wand.

"Humor me." She finally told him.

* * *

The girls were superbly satisfied with the results of their endless dress search. It had ended at the second store, an expensive establishment, but one that didn't make either one of them flinch (well, not until Hermione realized who she was, at least). They were now approaching the small fork in the road they had departed from originally. They would inevitably pass the small tree seen before.

"Clara." Jem tapped her cousin on the arm. "Is that Blaise?" She pointed to the tree. He was lounging underneath it, facing them, legs extended in front of him in a leisurely position as he rested on his hands. He looked to be laughing.

"What is he doing?" Clara asked.

"I dunno. Let's go see." As they got closer, another voice became apparent.

"Is that _really_ what the boys' dormitory is like?" She giggled. Blaise laughed softly again.

"Oh yeah, but I hear the girls' is worse."

Conversing with Ginny had been a success, Blaise thought as he saw her laugh at all his mediocre jokes. He had no idea what had compelled him to act so kindly to the girl, a Weasley, blood traitor by name, and Gryffindor by house. She wasn't allowed. But perhaps that was the basis of her appeal…

"Blaise, who are you-" Another girl began, but stopped as she rounded the corner. The two on the ground looked up sharply, their private bubbled popped in a matter of seconds and bringing them both back to reality. Ginny stood up quickly. She looked lost for a moment, as if unsure what to do, before hardening her features and taking a step away.

"It was nice talking to you, Zabini." Blaise shuffled to stand as well.

"Weasley, wait." He grabbed her forearm. She whipped her head around.

"_Really_," She said. "It was nice." For the smallest of moments, her fiery eyes softened and she let her suddenly cold demeanor slip away. But just as quickly as it had gone was it back again, shooting looks at the new arrivers as she stalked off. Blaise looked on after her.

"What was that all about, Blaise?" His sister asked him. Blaise turned around.

"It was nothing."

He never elaborated, but Clara could tell by the way Ginny periodically glanced back to sneak a peek at Blaise, that it had been something.

* * *

**Hm, what happened to Draco? **

**I wrote this in under three days! Any longer and it would have been posted next week…**

**I want to say that I'm sorry if I haven't responded to everyone's messages/reviews. I'm trying to sort through everything in my mind since school has started, so things are a little fuzzy right now.**

**I expect the next chapter is going to be a little longer, and we're going to see a one-on-one with Clara/Hermione and Draco! It should be exciting, and then after that everyone is going home… only Clara and Draco won't exactly be doing that. That's all I can say for now, but I'll try to update by next weekend! **

**Cheers!**


	13. Corridor Conversations

It was the Friday afternoon before everyone would be taking the Hogwarts Express back home and the Great Hall was filled with the student body eating their lunch. At the Slytherin table, our heroine sat somewhat isolated from the rest of her peers as she sometimes did when her thoughts were bothering her. Blaise, the annoying git, was next to her talking to Draco, just the person her mind was whirring around. Across from her was Jem, sitting, oddly enough, next to Theodore Nott and exchanging extremely polite and conversational words with him. Beyond them, the rest of the Great Hall ate.

Slughorn's party was that evening, and she still didn't have a date yet. Yes, Draco was her fiancée, and yes, everyone knew that, but after he had ditched her and her cousins on Saturday during the Hogsmeade trip, she felt unobliged to do anything with the man. As she sat and glared at the Great Hall in front of her, something caught Clara's eye.

Way over at the Gryffindor table, Ginny Weasley ever so surreptitiously turned her head around and searched the Slytherin table.

Blaise was no longer talking to Draco. No, Draco was talking to the idiot's Crabbe and Goyle now as Blaise stared back across the room. Right in the direction of a certain Gryffindor, it just so happens. Clara saw Ginny blush and turn her face away quickly. Blaise smiled softly and looked down at the table.

Clara was incredulous. What had she just seen? Did Ginny really just…_ blush_ at Blaise? And why? What about Dean, or _Harry_ even. She happened to know the red head was still harboring feelings for the "Chosen One," as they were calling him these days. With all these other boys around, why did she look to Blaise? Clara didn't say anything to her cousin, though. Perhaps she was just being irrational and it really was nothing.

Soon the meal was over and students got up to enjoy their last half hour before their last class of the day would start. Clara lagged behind her other friends, watching Blaise's odd behavior with interest. First, as he had stood from the table, his eyes watched the Gryffindor table intently. He was careful to walk next to Draco as they filed out, but kept his eyes trained on something across the room. Clara couldn't help raising an eyebrow at these subsequent actions, but they only raised further when he separated himself from Draco and headed toward the astronomy tower. With no hesitation, Clara followed.

This was not at all like following Draco. Blaise hardly checked himself to make sure no one was following him. He seemed especially eager to meet someone. He marched up the circular staircase of the Astronomy Tower and slowed as he approached the top. A girl was already waiting for him.

"So you got my letter then." Clara heard Blaise say from her hidden spot on the stairs.

"You better speak fast, Zabini. I have Potions with Snape in ten minutes." Ginny told him harshly.

"Might I speak slower then?" He said smoothly.

"Zabini…" She warned.

"Yes, yes, don't get your knickers in bunch. I only wanted to ask you a simple question."

"What, then. and why are you still talking to me?" Her voice was soft when she asked and had an undertone of melancholy to it.

"Well, I thought I might like to see you again." Blaise sounded taken aback.

"What are you suggesting?"

"I am _suggesting_ that I take you to Slughorn's party tonight."

"I'm already going with Dean Thomas." There was a brief silence.

"You're not really going with that git, are you?" Blaise asked overconfidently.

"As opposed with you?" She bit. Ouch.

"Oh c'mon, Weasley. It would be great. No one would know what hit 'em."

"No. It can't happen; it _won't_ happen." Ginny said in a tone that suggested she was talking more to herself than Blaise. _His reasoning _is_ rather weak._ Hermione thought. "Besides, I think we need to be on a first name basis before we go anywhere together."

"Weas- Ginny! Wait!" Blaise called. Clara was taken off guard as Ginny headed her way down the stairs. She stood up quickly, before Ginny could see her, and shuffled down the steps at lightning speed. In the hallway she threw herself behind a pillar nearby. Ginny came out right on her heals, but unaware of her enemy a few feet away.

"Ginny! _Ginny!_" Hissed Blaise from behind. He grabbed her forearm but she wrestled out of his grasp.

"Will you just _stop_?" Ginny hissed back.

"Stop what? What's the problem?"

"Don't you _get _it?" She whispered fiercely. "We come from completely different places! It's unnatural."

"That's what you're worried about?"

"You have your sister and your cousin." She went on as if he hadn't said anything. "I have my brothers… it's just a way for the entire school to be pitted against us." She finished, breathing heavily. Blaise's body visually calmed. His shoulders relaxed, his stance lost its defense, and his eye lids drooped slightly.

"Well then, if that's how you feel…" His bow was low, one of the lowest Clara had ever seen him give, but not with the cordial mocking normally accompanying these ridiculous formalities. He had never seemed so disenchanted before. "May you have a good life then, Ginerva Weasley."

And then he walked away, leaving Ginny to wonder if she had possibly made a mistake in turning down one of the most interesting people she had ever met.

* * *

The scene with which Clara had witnessed not twenty minutes ago was still felt inside: a deep, cold pit at the bottom of her stomach. It made her sad to see Blaise so solemn, though in reality, you wouldn't have even thought anything of the sort if you looked at him now. They were in Potions class now, and Clara could see Blaise joking with Draco about something. She worried for him.

Her remaining classes flew by, and with each progressing minute Clara seemed even further reminded of the date she _didn't_ have. She was, by this time, sitting in the Common room corner hunched over a book and simultaneously considering going alone, or not going at all, when someone very tall approached her.

"Good evening, Clara. Aren't we looking divine?" John Brody smooth talked. Clara's eyes lead her head up to his face. Her mouth twisted into some sort of a smile.

"Hello John." She replied. They had long ago agreed on first name bases.

"Are you going to Slughorn's party, by any chance?"

"Er, I don't know…" She said, suddenly unsure of talking to him. With John Brody, there was only one direction this conversation could be going: He was going to ask if she would go with him. And she had just given him the perfect opportunity to do so.

"If that's the case, might I entice you…" Brody started. Why hadn't she asked someone earlier? There was Jemma! Surely that would have been a suitable arrangement!

"May I accompany you to Slughorn's party?" John said as Clara tuned back in. She stared at him for a few seconds before kicking herself into gear.

"Er…" This was it. She was at her wits end. Because she had made no other plans, she would be stuck with John Brody for the rest of the evening. She looked around the room quickly. No one would ever guess he was asking her to the party, the exchange was so quiet. She looked back at him.

"Sure?" Clara answered. Brody gave her the closest of what a Slytherin could call a smile.

"Right then. I'll see you in three hours." He walked briskly up the stairs and to his dormitory. Clara slammed her head on top of her book. Curse that unreliable ferret! This was his entire fault! If he wasn't so un-_reliable_ then she would have a date to the silly party and wouldn't have to endure _John Brody _for the whole night!

She closed her book and dragged herself upstairs to get ready.

* * *

Three hours was far too much time to prepare for a simple night like this. It hadn't even taken her that, but here she was, completely ready when Brody wasn't. She had checked the Common room three times so far in ten minutes and, still, nothing. The party would start in half an hour, so where was he?

In any event, the gown she had purchased the week before was, for lack of a better term, heart-stopping. The vague sweetheart neckline detail with the strapless, floor length gown was tantalizing, but in a classy way. The deep red color shimmered in the light as she swayed her body side to side. A simple, matching scarf wrapped around her neck and hung loosely down her bare back. Clara had decided against loose curls for the evening, so her hair was pulled high on he head in a tight, elegant bun. Red earring dangled from her lobes. Draco's bracelet rested absent-mindedly on her wrist.

Clara decided to check downstairs again to wait for John, because there are only so many times a lady can reapply her lipstick. She had descended three steps when she saw someone sitting on the couch. And he was with _Pansy Parkinson_.

She couldn't hear them from where she was – for the Common room was on the loud side - only snippets of what Parkinson was saying.

"She's not even… I don't know why they… Not in a _real _relationship…" Clara's eyes narrowed at the vicious girl laughing all over Draco in the most obnoxious manner. Clara wondered how he could even suffer her presence.

Of course, had she been looking, Clara may have seen Draco's miserable expression. But, as always, when a young lady is feeling angry towards another, all else is ruled out (including the many people now staring open-mouthed at her wonderful gown).

"Good evening." She said through clenched teeth as she approached the couch. Pansy made a noise that sounded a lot like a mouse's squeak and jumped apart from Draco. "Parkinson. Always lovely to see you." Her abnormally toothy grin dived into a frown when she set her eyes upon the Lover Boy. "Draco." He stiffened.

"Claret." Pansy sneered. "Going to Slughorn's party alone, are we?"

"As opposed to not going at all?" Clara remarked. She thought the retort sounded familiar. Pansy sneered again. "Yes, well, I hope you-er-_enjoy_ yourselves this evening." As if on cue, John Brody appeared on the other side of the room, next to the stairs.

"There you are, Clara. Ready to leave?" He approached her and grabbed her hand to kiss it. Clara was complacent. That would show Draco he wasn't the only one to mess around. Not that she was really going to do anything.

So, after Brody sent an amicable wave in Draco's direction (which was met with a stoic nod of the head) and Pansy had her share of gawking, John and Clara headed toward the party. It was quite a busy conversation, though one-sided is the term normally used for the type of conversing they were actually doing. This was about as much Clara got in the whole time:

"You look very lovely tonight, Clara." He said.

"Thank you. You look very handsome, John."

And men thought women spoke a great deal! If you listened to Brody for a minute, one would heavily beg to differ. Oh, and the boring _things_ he talked about!

Finally arriving at Slughorn's party, they saw that it was already in full swing, not that that meant much. People milled about the room, waiters served hors d'eouvres for the guests, and a live band accompanied by soft music set the mood to the atmosphere. The girls who noticed the couple's arrival looked enviously upon Clara's beautiful attire and the handsome man to her right. John put his arm around Clara's waist without hesitation and dragged her over to the one person she had hoped she would not have to approach the whole night: Professor Slughorn himself, amongst a few older looking folks who were obviously old students of the Slug.

"Oh, Mr. Brody, my boy!" Slughorn exclaimed upon seeing John. Space in the tight circle was made for him and Clara. "And I see you've accompanied Ms. Claret also." He winked at Brody, then. Winked! The nerve…

"The two of you must meet one of my old students." Slughorn continued. "She's a consultant to the mister. Lets me in on all the news before it happens. Come with me, you must meet her."

Clara stifled a groan as John pulled on her waist once more to follow their teacher. She was not so sure she liked his arm around her waist, either, but there was no time to shove him off, because here the lady from the ministry was…

For the next twenty minutes Clara endured the tall lady who was the minister's consultant, who in actuality, wasn't that bad. But inside, Hermione was twitching. John's grasp on her torso was quite aggressive, so any time she made to move away from him he pulled her closer and strengthened his hold. If he was just planned on pinning her to his side while he talked to people the whole night, then why had he even asked her?

And on top of that, there was no one else there to talk to, not that she could see. From there, her evening looked as if it would consist of many more interviews by people she could care less to know or simply didn't feel like talking to. It was entirely disheartening.

Finally, though, finally, there was a break in the talks and discussions in which Clara and John were completely on their own. She seized the amazing opportunity.

"John, let's go over there." Quickly, as to catch him off guard, Clara untangled from him and glided over to one of the waiters carrying hors d'oeuvres. Someone from the crowd grabbed her by the shoulder before she could get to the food, however.

"I thought you weren't coming!" Clara exclaimed on seeing Jemma. John was gone for the moment.

"Well, I wasn't, but Blaise insisted I get out for a few hours tonight, at least before we go back home, so here I am!" Then Clara turned to Blaise, who looked very put out. She offered a comforting smile.

"I can't believe you came with that git. Why didn't you tell us you didn't have anyone else to go with?" He asked. Clara swatted Blaise's arm playfully.

"Excuse me! But who says I didn't have anyone else to go with?"

"Because he's the only one with enough gall to ask _Draco Malfoy's_ fiancée." Said Blaise. Clara sighed petulantly.

"What's the big sodding deal about Draco Malfoy anyway…" Clara grumbled under her breath.

For the next few minutes, Clara chatted idly with her cousins, an unexpected freedom she had finally received. Blaise only halfheartedly included himself in their conversation and instead busied his eyes in glancing around the room.

"Oh, I'm starving!" Jemma said half-way through nonsense talk about Pansy Parkinson and her disgusting cronies. "I've hardly had anything to eat all night. Where is that waiter… ah, there he is. I'll be right back." And in a moment, she was gone, off to stuff her face with cream puffs and the like. Blaise was still looking around the room. Clara leaned in.

"So, have you seen her yet?" She asked. Blaise swiveled his head in her direction.

"What?"

"Have you seen her." Clara repeated. "Have you seen Ginny." His eyes widened for a fraction of a second. He stood up straighter.

"Why would I ever need to see her?"

"It's OK, you know. I understand." She told him. "It's OK to feel the way you do. Even if she is a Gryffindor." Clara whispered. Blaise stared at her.

The soft music, the monotonous hum of young people's chatter, the vivacious laughter of a man having a good time; all seemed to stop as she spoke her next words.

"I mean, look at me. A Gryffindor engaged to a Slytherin."

Blaise looked at her in half curiosity, half wonder, until all the noise around crashed into them with the singular tone of a young man's voice.

"You're a quick little thing, aren't you Clara."

Said girl turned herself around only to be greeted by her date, John, who was holding a glass of something in his right hand. There was not another for her.

She was about to retort, going to retort, when the room went still and the music died down.

Filch was dragging someone in by the scruff of their neck.

"Found him roaming around in the hallways upstairs. What should I do with him?" There was a nasty glint in the care-takers eyes as he handed Draco over to the party host. Slughorn looked uncomfortable.

"Now, now Filch. There was no harm done. Mr. Malfoy is free to stay; there's no harm in a young man looking for a night of fun, now is there?" Slughorn said a little nervously. Snape, on the other hand, had different plans. Draco looked foul.

"No." Snape said quickly. "I'll escort him out. I am the head of his house. I'll deal with his punishment." Draco was once more grabbed by his collar and dragged out of the room.

"Yes, well, if you must Severus. Now, carry on everybody! There's nothing left to see!"

It took a few minutes for conversation to really start flowing again, but in that time Clara felt humiliated. It was as if a spotlight had been thrown upon her in Draco's wake. She couldn't help but notice how the people around her took a slight step away, and how the entire room turned to look at her, and whisper about her fiancee and his gatecrashing antics. Even Blaise seemed a little distant at the moment. And where was Jemma? She couldn't have felt more alone than in that moment.

Then, it was as if Clara's world had gone red. How could he have done that to her? No words from him in months, and then, all of a sudden, he turns up in the most unconventional way at Slughorn's party. He had to be the most frustrating man on earth. And Clara wasn't going to let him get away with it.

With a set jaw and fire in her eyes, Clara, in one of the rawest forms anyone may have laid claim to have ever seen her in, flew from the room, away from on lookers, as if it were the Bastille. The last thing John or Blaise saw of her that night was her blood red scarf, flung behind her and flying in the wind of her gait.

* * *

Clara stormed down the quiet Hogwarts hallways like a mistress in her estate, red scarf billowing behind her quick pace. He couldn't be long gone; the ill fated boy who had embarrassed her in front of a room full of people could not have gotten far.

She swiftly turned a corner and spotted the prat at the other end with Professor Snape. They looked to be arguing about something, but Clara didn't care. All she wanted was _retribution_. She soared to them.

"Professor." Clara nearly spat, cutting off the hopefully nasty comment Snape was about to deliver to Draco. Neither spared a glance in her direction. "I need to speak with Draco." Snape took his time in releasing Draco and taking a step back.

"I will leave you to your… fiancé, Mr. Malfoy, but in the future, do not go gallivanting off into the night without a professor with you. Someone might think you're up to something." He then gathered his coat in his hand and swept off back down the hall without looking back.

Clara was steaming. Draco drew himself up to full height and gave her the most arrogant, heartless, troubled expression he could muster.

"No need for you to follow me. I can-"

"Stop." Clara commanded him. "What did you think you were doing?"

"That's none of your-"

"I told you to stop!" Her shrill voice echoed off the ancient walls, reinforcing what she was saying. "You have humiliated me in front of all our classmates and several very prominent people from the ministry. I _deserve_ an explanation."

There were a few moments where Clara's heavy breathing and Draco's slightly wide-eyed stare filled an odd silence. Then Draco inhaled.

"I was in the Room of Requirement." He diverted his gaze to the farthest wall. Clara's livid countenance suddenly dropped, so abrupt she thought she might have heard it on the marble floor they were standing on. _He actually answered._ She thought.

"What were you doing?" She asked, softly now. Draco crossed his arms.

"I think you know." Clara let out a breath she had unintentionally been holding and closed her eyes.

"The cabinet." She said. Draco's head jerked to hers.

"Who told you about that?" Clara flinched.

"I followed you." She told him, opening her eyes. "In Diagon Alley."

"You _followed_ me? Who gave you the _right_ to do-"

"Nobody had to give me the right. I took the initiative." Clara breathed out sharply through her nose. "I don't care what anyone says; this concerns me, so I have a right to know."

"A right to know what, exactly?" Draco countered. "A right to know how to stop me? How to help the blood-traitor and his little blood-traitor sister?" Draco spat cruelly.

"_Don't _talk about them like that." Clara said dangerously.

"Do you know what _he'll_ _do to me_ if I don't complete my mission?" Draco continued as if Clara hadn't warned him, while getting very close to her face. "He'll _kill_ _me and my whole family_." His voice echoed off the walls. Draco kept their eye contact steady as he breathed heavily from the emotion he had just let off his chest. He had spoken with such intensity and with such vulnerability that Clara's eyes were glistening. She drew in a shaky breath.

"I'm your family now, too." Draco stumbled back as if he had been slapped across the face. "This concerns me, too."

The thought racing through Draco's mind and spreading over his face was one of the most intense realization. He had never really thought of Clara Claret as his _family_ – anything but, actually. He was silent.

"I know we don't get on, Draco." His fiancée decided to say. "But we can't do this to each other. Not now. Not when-when we could lose our lives at any moment." Her voice had slowly traveled into a whisper, quiet so only Draco may hear it. She gathered her gown and took a step back.

"But," Draco said, unwilling to let her go. "He told you to keep out of it. That you weren't allowed to know." He tried to see her face in the dim light of the hall.

"I know."

And he watched her. He watched Clara, in his confusing reverie, jog down the corridor and disappear when the darkness enveloped her in its black folds.

* * *

**How was it? **

**School work has been a real bummer, so my weekends have been filled with it. But at least this was nice and long! **

**This was one of the hardest chapters I've written so far. It was just a real challenge to get all of the right words out of these characters. Please let me know if there was anything you noticed that didn't seem to fit well, or was off, or something. I really want to know so I can fix it and make it better.**

**In this chapter, John Brody really serves as a parralel to the book. What I mean is, I want to show that even though Hermione's a Slytherin now, and would never have gone wth Cormac, there is still a McLaggen in her life in the form of John Brody. Just like Ron's black eye. Because Hermione wasn't there to take the blow, Ron got hit instead by his brother's weird invention. I hope that makes sense. **

**If anyone is interested, I would suggest looking up 'Textbook' by **_**We Are Scientists**_** on Youtube or wherever you go for music. I think it really relates to how Clara feels at the beginning of the story – even at this point. If you listen to the lyrics, you'll know what I mean. **

**Welp, that's all I have for now, and I will try to get the next chapter up in the next couple of weeks. But, until then… **

**Cheers!**


	14. Photo Shops and After Effects

Platform 9 3/4 was bustling with the hubbub of happy parents seeing their children again after many months of Hogwarts education. Strong fathers were present to pick up the luggage, and mothers offered doting antics. On the whole, no Hogwart's student seemed to have any problems with this treatment - except for the ones who weren't getting it. _Where are they?_ Hermione wondered as she waited for her luggage to be brought outside to her. Draco had very kindly - and uncharacteristically - offered to take her bags down. She watched the platform for any sign of her tall, dark haired mother next to her tall father, but none came. From a distance, she saw John Brody being pulled along by an older woman who remarkably had many of his features. Draco suddenly joined her at her spot against the wall.

"Aren't you going to say goodbye to Brody?" He asked, a hint of sarcasm to his tone. Clara's frown couldn't get any deeper.

"Did you get my bags?" She asked instead of taking to his "bait."

"Of course." He grumbled.

"Good. I'll take them then." She reached for her large suitcase, only slightly worried that she might not be able to withstand its weight, but another hand stopped her.

"No, Clara. I have them." She looked into his deep blue eyes and saw tenacity behind them: he wanted to prove something to her. She slowly pulled back.

"Now, c'mon then." Draco told her as he struggled to gather her entire luggage set. She looked confused.

"Where are we going?" She asked. Weren't they going to wait at the station? Draco looked only slightly surprised.

"They didn't tell you?" He asked her in a low voice.

"What didn't they tell me?" Clara challenged. _Not this nonsense again._

"I'll tell you later. We're late." He made to turn and guide her off the platform, but she took hold of his arm.

"Draco, tell me." It sounded like a cross between desperation and demand, but Draco steeled himself against the affects and looked her straight in the eye.

"I can't here. I have orders."

"Orders?" Clara scoffed. "Orders? From who? Not from… not from _him_." Her demeanor quickly changed and became quite pallor. "Surely we're not going _there_…" She thought she felt rather week all of a sudden.

"_Sh!_ Keep your voice down. Of course we're not going there. What are you, daft?" Despite their venom, Draco's words were successful in calming Clara.

"Fine, then where are we going?" She asked.

"Follow me."

* * *

Chateau de Villette* was built in the 17th century for the Count of Aufflay. It is a grand estate resting on 185 acres and is reminiscent of Versailles, which it was modeled after. Currently, the soft wind of a December afternoon swept across the grounds, weaving in and out of the tall, bushy trees scattered randomly across the way. A long gravel pathway led to the ancient mansion. It was empty, save for the occasional small creature to scatter across. At its entrance was an ornate welcoming gate.

_Crack!_

Just outside the bounds of the medieval-styled gate, a young couple appeared, their long trench coats billowing in the force of their coming. The girl squinted.

"Where are we?" Clara asked. The dense trees cast a dark shadow over where they stood. The giant gargoyles seated on either side of the gate did not escape her attention. Draco stepped forward, a key as medieval looking as the gate now in his hand.

"The _second_ Malfoy Manor." He inserted the key into the lock. In a series of high-pitched squeaks, Draco opened the right gate enough so he and Clara could walk through. He was about to enter, but stopped, as if an idea had occurred to him. He stepped aside and motioned Clara in front of him.

"Why are we entering this way?" She asked as she came through the barrier. Draco followed and promptly locked the gate.

"The place is heavily warded."

He didn't say anything else until they were inside the house. On the way there, Clara took in her surroundings as carefully as she could. It was all very lovely, she decided, and not intimidating at all. There was an express wonder in visiting historic landmarks for Hermione. The house she could see in the distance was old; that was obvious for anyone. As they broke past the ubiquitous trees, Clara spotted lakes on either side of the luxury home. Two guest houses flanked the main building, attached by arched walkways to and from the house. There was endless grass all around. She tried stifling her awe.

After getting off the train – which was barely a half hour before – they had scooted past some very shady looking pedestrians to reach the back alley of a small coffee shop. A trashcan lid portkey had been waiting for them with a curious green serpent marking on it. Clara was dubious at first (a garbage lid, really?) but no longer held any doubt about it.

"Er, Draco." Clara called.

"Yes."

"Where are we exactly?" She asked slowly.

"The second Malfoy-" He started.

"No, I mean in proximity to London."

He hardly considered a moment and barely glanced at her. "We're about thirty minutes away from Paris by car."

Paris? Her internal commentary on the estate quickly vanished as she began fantasizing about going into the city. It was her most favorite place in the world, and now she could visit it again!

In front of the tall double door entrance, Draco produced another key, this one smaller and of a more gold color than the last. He unlocked the door with a satisfying click and they stepped over the threshold.

The high-ceiling-ed, marble floored foyer was surprisingly bright and welcoming inside. The walls were a warm hue of gold, more accentuated by the grand chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Spiral staircases on either side led upstairs to grand master bedrooms and guest residence. In front of them, short hallways would lead to the back of the house and several parlors and dining areas in the mansion. In the center of the circular room was an antique wooden table with an envelope on it.

Clara spotted the white paper first.

"What's that?" Draco asked, coming up right behind her.

"A letter addressed to the both of us." Clara flipped it over and began tearing the flap open. The parchment inside was small. She looked at the script. Her father had written it.

_Clara and Draco, _

_If you are reading this then you arrived safely. If you are confused now, do not worry, we will reach you in a few days. There is a lot happening here and neither of you needs to be involved at the moment. In the meantime, stay within the estate boundaries, where it is safe. We cannot risk anyone locating you. You will have to entertain yourselves until then. Duffy is there to assist you. _

_Please, be safe. _

_Your family _

Clara only needed to read the letter once to understand its contents, but she read it again, if only to relive her father's concerned words once more. Draco was done with it already, heading down one of the halls that led to who knows where.

"Duffy!" Clara called quickly. _Crack!_

"Miss called?" The elf squeaked.

"Take our things please." Clara told Duffy, waving vaguely in the direction of their luggage. She was preoccupied with the direction Draco was going. She followed him.

The hallway was nicely lit by age-old lights and held numerous pieces of artwork, of which she was sure there was a Da Vinci hiding. She emerged into a cozy sitting room, fire burning bright. Draco was standing up, gazing into the blaze.

"Draco." She moved to stand next to him. His eyes slowly made their way to her face. "Why can't we leave?"

"They said the Dark Lord will want to use us for something. They're keeping us here until it happens."

"And we can't leave the house?"

"This estate is very heavily guarded. No one knows this mansion is in our possesion, not even the Dark Lord. If we leave, it would be easier for someone to track us." His eyes shifted to the paper she was still holding. "We need to get rid of that letter." Clara looked down at it, at the only words she had truly received from her father in months, and back up at Draco.

"Why?"

"To be safe." He shrugged. Clara took one last look at it, stepped forward, and pitched it into the fire. She stepped back and watched the smoky tendrils weave into the air as the flames began curling the paper. The fire cracked. Niether spoke for a moment.

"The wards extend to the entrance gate, approximately 600 yards into the forest behind the house, and 500 yards beyond the lakes. After that, our guard is cut off." Draco told her. She yawned.

"I think I'll go find my room now." She told him quietly. He was gazing into the fire once again. She started out of the room.

"Clara?"

She hadn't taken three steps before he called her back.

"I won't let anything happen. I'm not going to let him kill my… my family. You'll be safe."

Clara was surprised. A beat passed. Then another one. Finally, she said the only thing that she really could.

"I know."

* * *

In the West wing of the temporary home two days later, Clara laid sprawled across one of two yellow sofas, nose buried in a book. Light of an early sun shone through clear glass windows. The french doors were thrown wide, the beginning of a small gravel path leading to a short fountain across the grass.

Clara sighed and put her book down. Where was Draco? Not that it particularly mattered much or anything, but they had agreed to keep within a set distance, just in case. Let's see, they sat down for breakfast not too long ago and then he left without so much as a goodbye…

It was hopeless. Clara was excruciatingly bored. Even with an endless amount of books (the library there was very big) they had nothing on the fact that Paris lay not thirty minutes away. She started bouncing her foot, which was currently hanging over the arm of the couch.

What if she just… no, no she couldn't possibly…

It had already been decided before the thought left her mind.

Clara slowly sat up. She placed her book on the coffee table and proceeded to stand up cautiously.

"Draco?" She called tentatively. _Please don't answer… please don't answer…_ Nothing. "Draco?" She asked the air again. Once more, nothing.

"Duffy!" She called out instead. The elf appeared with her trademark sound.

"Miss?" The small creature asked, a pair of split pants in her arms in the middle of being stitched.

"Do you know where Draco is?" Clara asked non-nonchalantly.

"Master is in his room, miss. Would miss like me to-"

"No, Duffy, that's fine." She cut off quickly. "Actually, I'd like you to do something for me."

"Anything miss."

"I'll need you to call a car for me, Duffy. It seems I'll be going into town this afternoon…"

* * *

The weather was not vicious when Clara went outside. Her Ralph Lauren pea coat and her blissfully warm yellow cashmere gloves protected her well against the December chill. It didn't matter that she only wore a short gray skirt with pantyhose and knee-high riding boots to watch her there.

She was waiting just inside the gate for the car Duffy had called half an hour before. She had snaked the spare keys (which Draco had told her about in case of an emergency) and exited the house without any problems. Duffy was sworn to secrecy.

As she waited for the town car, the initial rush of refusing authority – one of the first times in her life – slowly dwindled. She had no idea what had come over her in the first place. Her intense desire to see Paris once again? A need to see fresh faces and interact with society? Or perhaps just a breath of fresh air. Either way, she was beginning to doubt her decision making.

But just before she completely threw the idea away and slugged back into the chateau, the car arrived.

"Clara Claret?" The chauffeur asked in a smooth french accent.

"_Oiu_." She responded automatically. She took one last glance back at the house while the driver came around to open the door for her before unlocking the gate and climbing into the luxurious back seat.

* * *

Paris was lovely. Paris was beautiful. Paris was exactly what Clara had been needing. She had long ago departed from the town car, instructing the driver where to meet her in three hours time in her perfect french. Her time in France previously had allowed her to pick the language up.

All to herself, Clara almost skipped down the_ Avenue des Champs-Elysees, _covered in wonderful snow,ecstatic with the sight of her most favorite city in the world. She continued walking, content with that simple method of travel. She wandered, wandered until she didn't quite possibly know where she was. She listened pleasantly to the quaint french speakers around her.

"Jeune dame, puis-je vous intéresser à un beau chapeau pour cette belle tête?" _Young lady, may I interest you in a beautiful hat for that beautiful head? _A store owner called to her from outside his small shop. Clara smiled at him.

"Vous pouvez, monsieur." _You may, sir._ She walked through the snow and into his store, which claimed to be a photo shop, but was more of a trinket shop, if you asked her. Nonetheless, it was cute and held something she found she desperately needed: a snow cap. She found herself oddly fascinated with the small gifts around the place. A Swiss army knife here, a scarf settled over there. It was all very strangely arranged, yet was quite cute. It wasn't long before the store owner came back into his shop to check up on her.

"Trouvez-vous tout que vous avez besoin, la Mlle?" _Are you finding everything you need, miss?_ She turned around, a reply on her lips, when the sight of the person talking to her halted the words. She _thought_ it had been the shopkeeper, but it was actually her livid fiance. Oh dear.

"Draco?" She asked.

"What are you doing here?" He hissed. He didn't give her a chance to answer. "C'mon. Now. We're leaving."

"But Draco-" But nothing. He was already out the door, long gray tweed trench outlining his firm shoulders. She hurried out after him, past the surprised shopkeeper, and stopped him some feet from the store entrance.

"Draco wait." She put her hand on his arm to turn him around. He still didn't look happy.

"Clara," He said quietly. "We have to go back to the manor. It's dangerous out here." His eyes darted sideways.

"Draco, we're in _muggle Paris_. No one is going to find us here."

"Don't be so sure." He responded cryptically. Clara huffed.

"Just for a little while longer, please? I can't take it inside that house anymore!" She pleaded with him. It was getting ridiculous, she knew, but she needed someway to convey to him the desperation she felt at the idea of heading back into that estate. For a fraction of a second, Draco's eyes softened as he felt the need for her to get out and see the world, if only for a minute. His lips twitched, the first of many times she would see them do so.

Someone interrupted them then.

"Hey, hey. Let's not mess the love up, yeah?" The shopkeeper was telling them in English. "I'll let the pretty lady have a hat for free, yeah?" His earnestness had a laid-back quality to it, as if he were genuinely concerned for the young couple in front of him. Draco's eyes went from the strange man to Clara's unadorned head. He sighed, reaching into his pocket to pull out a crumpled bill.

"Elle prendra deux." _She'll take two._ The shopkeeper took the money happily and ushered them both into his store. Clara felt uneasy by Draco's side.

"Go on then." He told her when he saw her hesitate. "I paid for the rudy hats…" Clara brought her shoulders up and sauntered further into the shop, guiding her feet to the hat on the other side of the store. Draco followed, stern faced.

There were a lot of different colors to choose from. The white one with the pom pom on top… the red one with ear flaps… the plain purple cap. Clara grabbed the white hat and stuck it on top of her soft curls.

"You're going to get that dreadful thing?" Draco commented almost immediately. Clara's jaw dropped open.

"I don't think its dreadful at all!" She argued. "Here, just to spite you, this is the one I choose to get." The small witch folded her arms defiantly. Draco's lips twitched again.

"I won't let my money go to pot and penny!"

"Draco!"

In the end it was just a jest. Clara walked out of the shop happily, white pom pom cap stuck over her head and a similar pink one in a bag Draco was currently holding. They stood on the snowy corner of the avenue.

"What now?" Clara asked hesitantly. She hoped he didn't make her go back to that awful manor. Not that it was technically awful; it was just incredibly boring. He dug his hands deep into his coat pocket.

"I know a place."

* * *

_Café de la Paix** _was not quite a café in the traditional sense of the word. But is there such a thing in Paris? The café was gold; the ceiling artwork and carved pillars gave the ambiance of eating with royalty. Clara marveled; French architect never ceased to amaze her.

"This is beautiful."

"Combien?" _How many?_ The host asked.

"Deux."

He took them to a table in the middle of the room. Draco leaned in and whispered something Clara could not hear into the other man's ear. The host nodded and guided them to another table. This one was in the far corner and next to a window. Much more private. They sat down.

"What brought you here?" Clara asked Draco once the waiter had left. He shrugged, very interested in the menu.

"I've always wanted to eat here. We're very close to a wizarding community."

"How did you find me?" She asked after a pause.

"You're not as sneaky as you think you are." He smirked behind the menu. Clara looked out the window in a huff.

"Where did you learn to speak French so well?" Clara questioned a few minutes later. She took the glass of water in front of her and preceded to sip from it.

"I lived here for a few years." He said simply. Clara was impressed.

"You lived here? What about school? What about friends…"

He looked up from his menu, trademark smirk on his face. "There aren't any _schools_ in the wizarding world like those muggle institutions. Besides, I knew I'd be going to Hogwarts before I could even form words." He looked down at the menu again, smirk suddenly gone. "As for friends, you know Zabini."

Clara stared at the boy's blond head. Was the only friend Draco had her annoying cousin?

"That annoying git?" Clara ended up blurting. "I don't know how you can stand him." Draco looked up surprised.

"He's been there, annoying git or not." This time Draco's mouth formed into a small smile, putting Clara's stomach into a weird series of flips.

Before anything more could be said, the waiter arrived and took their orders. Draco seemed to already know what he wanted, and so Clara requested the same thing, having not even glanced at the menu. After that, only simple conversation was made (they could not talk about the possible whereabouts of their parents – that was too risky) but was efficient in passing the time. It wasn't before long that both were done with their (slightly on the expensive side) meals and with the check in hand.

Draco had just stuffed some bills into the book when a chocolaty desert descended upon them.

"Sur la maison, au jeune couple." _On the house, to the young couple_. Their waiter told them. He jestured to the ring on Clara's finger. She released a breath from the initial stress at the possibility of having received another's desert and tried to giggle.

"Vhen is ze wedding?" The _garçon_ asked in the couple's native tongue. Clara ran her memory.

"Er…"

"The Spring." Draco chided in. Clara laughed a little nervously.

"Ah, le printemps. A wonderful time. May you have ze best moments." Clara felt like the waiter had been trying to say something else as he bowed himself out of their company, but another thought was clouding her mind. _The Spring._ Another unattached memo.

"Is it really happening in the Spring?" Clara asked quietly.

"Yes." The air was stiff between them now, not that it had been very free before. Draco could sense Clara's frustration and hurt. His Slytherin instinct told him to kick her while she was down, but the rational side of him, the humane one, needed to fix it.

"C'mon. I'm going to show you the _Avenue des Champs-Elysees _like you've never seen it before." He threw his napkin onto the table while standing out of his chair. He offered Clara an arm. She only had an inkling of an idea that he was trying to divert her sad moment to the city she loved. The thought that Draco Malfoy was trying to comfort her sent unaccustomed warmth through her body and compelled Clara to accept the arm he held before her.

"Alright."

* * *

Down the _Avenue des Champs-Elysees _the sun was shining as people milled about. Clara could not stop gazing into the display windows of the couture stores with a certain awe. Though fashion was not her thing, the mannequins sure did have an appeal to them. Finally they approached Louis Vuitton. In the window was their signature luxury bag in various colors, the LV logo tattooed across its leathery surface. Clara stopped walking.

"Don't you already own a million of those bags?" Draco asked on noticing her line of vision. Clara stuck her chin out.

"No, I only have the carry-on."

"Then what the bloody hell have I been lugging around…" Draco muttered under his breath.

"_That_ would be my Kenneth Cole and Coach. But Louis Vuitton…" In truth, Clara's luggage consisted of a number of different brands altogether and of which she did not carry all the time. In fact, she did own more than a mere carry-on by Louis Vuitton, but a girl in desperate need of fine luggage does not reveal that sort of information.

In the final moments of their genial bickering, Clara and Draco did not notice the wide street clear so ominously. They did not notice, either, the short figure strutting towards them, garbed in black. It was only in the last second, when she was upon them, that they realized what was happening. They had no time to grab for their wands.

"We've been looking for you." Bellatrix Lestrange told them before grabbing their shoulders and apparating away.

* * *

***Chateau de Villete is a real mansion in France. You can google pictures of it to get an idea of what it looks like.**

****Cafe de la Paix is also a real cafe in Paris, which you can google.  
**

**What d'you think?**

**I'm sorry this took so long, I went kinda fast in the end. Please let me know what you thought of it. This, again, was hard for me to write because I'm trying to show a new side of Draco, and he's kind of a hard nut to crack. **

**The fluff here will not be the last of it. The next chapter probably won't have so much, but the one after that definitely should and then, eventually, there will be much more than that… but that's all I can say for that at the moment. **

**A big, wopping THANK YOU to all of my reviewers: I really love and appreciate every single one of your comments.**

**Until next time! **


	15. The Raid

The room was odorless. Candles flickered, some in mid-air, some balanced precariously atop large stacks of texts. Three Death Eaters stood behind her.

Clara was in the same room she had received the Dark Mark in. And Lord Voldemort was not five feet away, pacing up and down the high-ceilinged chamber.

"Your father tells me you are a smart witch." His high-pitched tone made him seem more freakish, more un-human. Clara kept a brave face on. "You are well advanced in your studies, are you not?"

Clara nodded her head, one swift, quick movement. She almost squeaked as she did it.

"Good." He said. "Then I have a mission for you. Oh, do not worry; it is not like the one Draco has received. It requires you to do little." He stopped his pacing and turned to face her. He looked into her eyes. "You will serve two Death Eaters in a raid. Your only purpose is to conceal the fight." His eyes flashed, sending chills up Clara's spine. "It would be a shame to have the Ministry step in and ruin a good duel.

"Now go! You perform tonight." Voldemort abruptly turned away and began his pacing again, his cloak sweeping the floor much like a Dementor's might before swooping in and stealing a Kiss. Clara's heart sped up. _Tonight?_ Hands wrapped around Clara's arms and pulled her back into the shadows.

* * *

"Come, Clara, we must be quick." The three of them were in the grand ball room now, walking quickly to make it out of the boundaries of the Manor so that they might apparate to the raid sight. Bellatrix was pulling Clara along by her arm and making small talk with her in hushed speech. Greyback was already far ahead of them, eager for battle.

"I can't have my nephew's fiancé failing her first mission, now can I?" Bellatrix was telling her soon-to-be in-law. The way she said it did not quell the anxiety in Clara's stomach. Where were they going? Who were they raiding? What damage was going to be done? Bellatrix tugged her arm harshly when she lulled.

They made it across the hall and now the group was in a corridor, still walking at a fast rate, to make it outside. They passed by no one. Clara did not feel it was a good time to talk.

At the front doors, Greyback opened the right, letting in a chilling air. He slipped out, leaving it open for Clara and Bella. The front yard to the Malfoy Manor was big. Big enough to host a professional football match, in fact. Greyback kept walking, towards something in the middle of the grass, it seemed. He stopped undecidedly and turned to disapparate, his black form flying into the sky.

Bella's grip was hard as she dragged Clara to the middle of the field. Clara gulped.

"Follow me closely. And don't try to run; the Dark Lord would not be happy." Bellatrix turned suddenly and her ghostly form darted towards the sky. Clara didn't move. She stared after Bellatrix's weird shape. A minute passed. Then another one. Clara snapped herself out of it. She took a quick glance around. No one. If she left now, they wouldn't find her.

But at the same time, Clara knew they would, and then Voldemort would kill her. Clara gulped again and looked back into the sky.

Nothing. She could see the stars, but Fenrir and Bellatrix were gone. How far away were they now? And where were they going? What did Bellatrix mean by telling Clara to follow her? Clara breathed out sharply, trying to calm the panic that was slowly closing around her chest.

She closed her eyes and thought about Bellatrix, where ever she might be. It wouldn't occur to her until later that this method of apparition could seriously cause her to lose some limbs, but she wasn't thinking clearly. With one last thought of Bella and her mean face, Clara spun on her heal and felt the familiar constricting of her body, as if she couldn't breathe. A moment later it lighted and she felt herself floating. Clara opened her eyes.

What _was_ this. Her body, or the black mass that was supposed to be, was racing over land, way faster than any Firebolt. She was well suspended over the neighborhood and could see London city lights in the distance.

Clara couldn't make heads or tails of it. Her body had taken a spirit form; where her feet should have been looked like the bottom of a withered coat, ripped and flapping gracefully in the night. She had no arms or an actual torso she could see and didn't quite feel her nose. There was no noise. She looked ahead of her.

There, in the distance, just into London, were two figures in the sky that Clara was sure were Fenrir and Bella. She pushed her form to move faster, to catch up so she might not lose them. It didn't take long for her to reach the pair. They sped over Big Ben and the London Eye. The water glittered in the evening lights. Soon it was all behind them and they approached the country side.

Ten minutes later, Fenrir landed on the ground of a field of weeds in a flutter of fabric. Bellatrix made a similar entrance beside him, followed by Clara, who was more than a little flustered by what she had just done.

"Quick." Fenrir ordered huskily. His words brought Clara out of her wonderment about the stunt flying over England she had just pulled off and alerted her to their surroundings. There was nothing but tall weeds sprouting in all directions. A small marshy pond sat quietly next to them and in the distance, past Greyback and Lestrange, Clara could see bright lights, as if from a house. Both he and Bella got their wands out and started into the weeds, towards the lights. Soon, she could barely see them.

What was she supposed to do? No one had told her anything! _OK… I need to conceal the fight… does that mean 'hide?' Well, then that means a concealment charm, which I'll have to expand over the fight and… _Oh dear. This was very complex magic. But she was Hermione Granger; she could do anything!

Oh, but she _wasn't _Hermione Granger, she was Clara Claret now.

_Oh, shove it all._ A voice in Clara's head told her. _You are one hundred percent capable of doing this. Just _think_… think…_

And suddenly, she had it.

Raising her arms high above her head, she shouted the spell.

In a spark of turquoise, Clara felt the Disillusionment charm spread from the tip of her wand to stretch around a mile radius. She closed her eyes to concentrate, and when she was sure she had it, Clara opened her eyes. There was a huge fire in the distance, where the other lights were. She could hear Bellatrix yelling taunts to people on the other side. Then a singular voice called out, as if to stop someone, and Clara could see Bellatrix in the weeds, keeping low and hissing like a snake. She started taunting. Clara retreated farther out, some ten feet away from the small opening next to the pond she had been standing in. It was a good thing she did, because not a moment later, a figure trampled into the pond, waving his arms around wildly to fend off any surprise attack.

Clara's blood ran cold. She almost let the ward drop.

Curses were flying now. Bellatrix and Fenrir emerged from the bushes and were openly engaged in fighting the person in the marsh. Three more persons joined the opposing side.

Everything was lit now, like a ceremonial burning ritual. The fire at the house was a monster now, igniting the sky no disillusionment charm could completely conceal.

The fighting escalated. Bellatrix sent one last hex in her wild manner. With a bitter laugh, she turned and formed into her ghost figure again and escaped into the air, Fenrir not far behind. The four figures in the marsh did not take too much time in realizing their attackers were gone. They ran back to the house.

The Burrow was completely engulfed in flames. It was disintegrating in front of their eyes. All of their possessions, all of their memories… all of Hermione's memories. She let the charm go listlessly, like someone being ordered under the imperious curse might.

Clara listened to Molly's sobs in the small marshy clearing, water high enough that some spilled into her boots. In the dim fire light, she quietly joined Mrs. Weasley.

* * *

Clara stayed in the marsh for a long time, long after the fire was put out and the reconstruction had begun. Spells were cast left and right, repairing scorched wood and lost appliances. No one spoke. Many times Clara almost revealed herself to help them, her friends, her family.

After a while, it started to rain and the marsh became muddier and the weeds sagged. It wasn't until Clara was soaked, her clothes and hair ruined, that she turned to apparate into the night.

* * *

The Claret's front yard was just as big as the Malfoy's. Clara padded up to the front doors in between two stone pillars. She ignored the golden knocker and instead pounded her fist against the polished wood. Duffy answered.

"Miss is home! Master and Mistress is worried! Miss must come in, out of the cold!" Duffy took Clara's hand and moved her inside. Clara shook out of the elf's grasp and squished through the foyer, into carpeted hallways where dirt water seeped into its plushness. She arrived at the drawing room door and turned the golden knob.

Lucius Malfoy was standing with his cane, leaning over Clara's parents on the couch to emphasis a point. Narcissa and Draco were sitting on a sofa behind him, Draco a little separated from his mother looking grave and Narcissa's expression unreadable. Everyone looked up when Clara walked in. Her parents stood up quickly and Draco bounced a little in his seat, as if he was going to stand up but then changed his mind.

There was silence as the group realized the state Clara was in. Her breathing was heavy and she was shaking. Her complexion was ghastly pale.

"Where have you been?" Her mother asked, deep worry shining in her eyes. "Draco came here and said they let him go. We've had no idea-"

"I don't want this to ever happen again." Clara said in a tone death might use with someone he hated. "First the Dark Mark and now a raid? On my _friends_?

"Why didn't anyone tell me? " She looked around the room meaningfully, half-hoping one of these people had an answer for her.

"We wanted to." Mrs. Claret told her daughter. "We wanted to, but-"

"No." Clara said sharply. "That's what you _always _say. Tell me honestly, why couldn't you?"

"It was too dangerous to say anything. We were trying to keep the two of you safe." Mrs. Claret said.

"It's more dangerous not knowing!" The room's attention shifted. Draco had a fiery look in his eyes.

"Draco, it is not your place to talk." Mrs. Malfoy scolded.

"Like hell it isn't." Draco talked back. The room was shocked by his sudden audacity. Draco stood up tall. "What the devil did you think was going to happen? Trapped in a bloody mansion with no words but that letter on the table." There was a shocked moment of silence. Then very carefully, and very coldly, Mr. Malfoy addressed his son.

"Sit down, Draco. As my son, and a Malfoy, you are expected to follow what your mother and I tell you. You have a duty to this family." Father and son glared at each other.

"Screw this family." Draco replied roughly. "I'm sick and tired of it."

Mr. Malfoy stood with his cane drilled into the floor and his knuckles white for the grip on it. His gray eyes were fierce upon his son and Hermione thought he was going to take a strike at Draco until he opened his mouth to speak.

"We will discuss this further at home. For now, thank you Mary, John. We look forward to seeing you tomorrow afternoon." He bowed and motioned for his wife to join him by the fireplace, completely ignoring the still seething Draco. Draco grudgingly walked to the fireplace, but did not enter with his parents. The flames ate Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy at the same time Draco turned around to nod at his future in-laws. Draco stepped into the hearth and a moment later he was gone.

* * *

**How was it?**

**This was shorter, I know, and there was a long wait for it, but I'm hoping I can get the next one up soon. **

**Did anyone notice that I took this scene from the Half-Blood Prince movie? I just thought I could use it here ;) **

**Thanks again to all of my reviewers. You guys are awesome.**

**See you soon!**


	16. Let Me Go

It was gray this morning. The sun was at its zenith but the clouds covered it so well that you could not see the great light it gave off or feel its magnificent ray upon your skin. The exact opposite Hermione Granger needed to lift her spirits.

She stood a few hundred feet away from the Manor – the Claret residence. The lush grass was littered with fallen dead leaves, brown and black and crispy under her tennis shoe-clad feet. She stared listlessly into the green and brown before her and thought. She thought about betrayal, about her friends, about Draco, about the Malfoys… her thoughts issuing never ending possible outcomes – children with Draco, death, more betrayal. What did all this mean? Why was this happening to her?

She was almost ready to go back inside, eyes burnt out and head hurting from the light of an overcast day. But the sound of crunching leaves in the distance stopped her. Her back heated up at the feeling of someone behind her. The footsteps weren't any that she recognized but had a rhythm to them that said they got to the point – they didn't like to lollygag or evade the issue. The man (she was positive this person was a male) slowed as he got closer until he was standing practically right next to her. Hermione didn't look at him. She listened to the sound of his slow controlled breathing – so reserved and self-conscious in that one movement - and then she knew.

"I met your aunt the other night." There was no personality in the statement, only fact, completely hard, cold fact. A moment of silence stretched out before them, messing with their heads, making them feel like minutes rather than seconds were inserted between her statement and the next.

"Did you like her?" Draco's voice was quiet and uncharacteristically unmotivated toward anything snide. The question, like what Hermione had said, held no life, just a means to keep a conversation going.

Hermione sniffed. "No." She would have answered differently to a different question – to a different person – to a different place! But Hermione was tired. She didn't want to play this little game anymore. She wanted to stop and go back. Back to normal. Her shoulders sagged and she dropped her face into her hands.

"Clara-" Draco started.

"_Don't_ call me… that." Hermione lashed out, turning around to look at him for the first time. She was grossly taken aback. It _wasn't_ Draco she was talking to. Or, at least, how could it be? He wasn't wearing his freshly pressed, perfectly tailored black Malfoy suit, nor was he in any sort of formal attire. He was wearing _jeans_. And a _t-shirt_! In complete shock, she looked him up and down. Everything was still black, and he had on Italian leather shoes, but still, it wasn't his suit and nothing was green. She turned away angrily then, upset that his appearance had distracted her.

"Hermione-" He tried again softly.

"How can you do that?" Hermione lashed out again whirling around to look him dead in the eye. This time it was a cry of frustration. "How can you act like you don't_ hate_ me, like we don't hate _each other_?"

"I don't _hate _you-"

"Oh like hell you don't!" Hermione moved past him, making her way back to her home, or that big _thing _over there, or what_ever_ that wretched place was to her-

Draco grabbed her forearm. She tried to yank it out of his grasp, but he was too strong.

"Let me _go." _She struggled.

"I came here to talk to you!" He spoke loudly, the first time to do so. Hermione glared at him.

"_Let me go!_"

"FINE!" He threw her arm down and turned away. "You're right Clara, Hermione, _whatever_ – I _don't_ want to get married, especially to _you_ – are you happy now? Does that satisfy you?" He was expecting an answer from her now. A come back. A snooty bookworm _something. _She watched him with hard eyes.

"Git." She said quietly.

"Oh, so now I'm the git." He cried out in frustration. "I don't want to get married." He said this more to himself, defeated, but Hermione thought he was being redundant.

"Well I don't want to get married either!" She was angry and sad and annoyed all at the same time.

"I _know_… I know." Draco said to her. Hermione looked scared. Draco looked tired. Somehow they had both missed these feelings, even when confronted by them before. It was like they were finding out the answer to something they had both known all along.

Hermione broke their eye contact first, looking down at her feet, at the grass… anywhere but back at those gray windows that matched the sky.

"What do we do now?" She looked to her right, at her house, without really seeing it.

"We wait." He said, standing up straight and calming down. Hermione looked sharply at him.

"For what?"

"For the right time to escape."

* * *

**Hello there!**

**OK, so I really posted this to remind everyone of this story's existence, but also because I wanted to get another chapter up before Harry Potter came out! And maybe because I've been suffering with a little writer's block. **

**Can I get a show of hands of who's going to the opening night for HP 7 Part II? I am! So I'll answer questions I've gotten in the last few months in my next chapter because I have to get ready for tonight! **

**Have a blast, and please let me know how I did on this chapter. And I know it was short, but they'll be longer! Promise!**

**Cheers!**


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